


Safe As Houses

by vulgarshudder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Experiment, Homelessness, M/M, Oral, Overdose, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 41,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulgarshudder/pseuds/vulgarshudder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is back from Afghanistan, and Sherlock is living under a very different set of circumstances. Just arrived back in the city, it was just John`s luck to be pick-pocketed. Things get complicated when he meets the thief again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Major issues of drug use and homelessness.

Dr. John Watson limped around the crowded streets of London. He`d only just moved back a month ago, and the sudden return to the bustling cosmopolitan city was almost overwhelming. He still felt at a lose end having being recently discharged from the army, and spent his time wondering the capital trying to get reacquainted 

It was past rush hour, and as the sunlight faded behind the grey buildings, the flood lights lit up the small park area of Leicester square. He decided to eat at Wong Kei`s off Shaftsbury Avenue, notoriously the restaurant with the worst service in London. But it was cheap and anonymous, and all he could afford on his army pension. He made his way around the corner, and noticed the crowd of tourists gathering at the corner. He looked up and noticed that the Swiss clock was nearing the hour so everyone was gathering to watch the marvels of Swiss engineering.

Feeling nostalgic, John stood at the edge of the crowd to watch with them, as the bells started ringing and the automated animals and Swiss herder girls or whatever they were supposed to be run around on the tracks.

John was broken from his reverie when something nearly barreled him over from the side. For a split second, he wasn`t in the mild climate of England, but back in the scorching hot dessert, someone shouting `incoming! incoming!!` and tackling him to the sand.

But he didn`t land on gritty hot sand, but instead hard concrete. Still blinking the confusion away, he looked around getting his bearings, his cane beside him.

When he looked up to see exactly what hit him, he saw a tall pale man bending down over him. "Terribly sorry." He said in enunciated English.

"Um, that`s ok." John replied sheepishly, gathering up his cane. Before he had a chance to protest the man in the long coat had grabbed his arm, and hauled him up making some display of patting him down of imaginary dirt.

"Well no harm done." The man said with a charming smile and turned to be on whatever urgent business he seemed to have, blue coat billowing behind him but soon lost in the crowds of tourists with their noses stuck in maps and guide books.

John still felt rather shell-shocked, wondering what the hell had just happened. The chimes of the Swiss clock had finished, and the crowd of tourists already thinning out after the show.

Something didn`t feel right, something was amiss. Brows knitting together, he felt the front of his jacket and panic ran through him like ice water.

_Shit._

He confirmed his worst fears by sliding his hand inside his open jacket feeling for the inside pocket. His wallet was gone.

"Hey!!" He shouted out, spinning around to see if he could spot that blue coat and shack of brown curls again. All he could see was tourists and ticket touts, the tall man was long gone.

He groaned to himself. Just his luck, he`d just been pick-pocketed.

 

As soon as Sherlock turned his back to the mark, his smile fell from his face instantly. He looked at the wallet in his gloved hand and tossed it over once before pocketing it into his coat. He didn`t look back, he knew what he was doing and where he was going. 

He headed towards So-ho, and when he was on a less busy side street he took out the plain black wallet again. He flipped it open, a bit disappointed at the lack of cash. He had known the man wasn`t a tourist, stance and tan lines of a military man but the mark had been distracted and the wrinkles of his jacket gave away the location of his wallet. On the spur of the moment he`d decided to make the dip with his two fingers, covering his action with a knock.

Man with a cane, wouldn`t be getting up so quickly. Played the good Samaritan and was gone before the mark even knew what was happening.

He started looking through the ID. Dr. John Watson. Old military ID, ha he`d been right. Oyster card, drivers license, all the information he`d need right there. He got to the cash card, and headed towards the nearest ATM making sure his collar and scarf concealed his face. He inserted the card, he`d have 3 attempts at the pin number. He got it on the second. 

Again his heart sunk when he checked the amount available to be withdrawn. It had been a poor mark to pick, but he needed the cash.

He withdrew the money, pocketing it inside his coat with the rest of the cash. 

Sherlock left the ATM, winding his way through narrow side alleys of London not covered by CCTV. He dumped the wallet and ID into a bin, he didn`t need it anymore, identity and credit card fraud started to leave paper trails, it took too much time and effort to cover his tracks. He pulled out his mobile, and sent a quick text. Within a minute he had received a reply, and quickened his pace for his rendezvous.

Eventually he got to his familiar destination behind one of the major upscale night clubs of the city. He spotted the man he was looking for, talking to an associate.

"Evening, I got it for you." The man said and Sherlock silently nodded. He reached into coat and withdrew the folded bills. He paid a high price but he wasn`t willing to use any street grade rubbish. Harvey knew him, and knew what he wanted. The last time he`d sold cocaine cut with aspirin to Sherlock he`d regretted it.

Harvey wordlessly took the money, not bothering to count it, and reached inside his own jacket to pass Sherlock some wraps. The taller man took them, and was on his way again. "See you in a few days." His dealer said behind him, but Sherlock didn`t reply. He needed his ritual and his fix.

Within an hour he was near home, if you could call it that. It was the arches of a bridge favored by London`s homeless as shelter from the rain. Sherlock wasn`t able to get into the Kings Cross hostel where they allowed drug use, fresh needles, a shower and bed were always preferable to the streets. He knew he didn`t look like the typical homeless junkie, but he knew how to keep up a facade. No one thinks the clean city boy is going to pick pocket them.

Sherlock reached his corner of a arch, ducking under the make shift curtain as a train rumbled above him. He set about lighting the candles so he could see what he was doing. The ritual had started and soon he would not care about his surroundings. He pulled out the tin box that housed his gear, and started laying everything out on the blanket in front of him ready for use.

Soon he released the tourniquet and pulled the needle from his scared arms. He dropped the needle beside him, and fell back onto his make shift cushions.

Finally his mind slowed, and he watched the candle light flames dancing on the old brick work above him, another train rumbling as it passed above.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John ends up volunteering a shift at a drug user hostel, where he sees someone familiar.

The months since he was robbed, John managed to settle down a little bit more. Maybe settle was the wrong word, he`d managed to survive. He got a part time job at a London clinic to support his army pension, and got by in his single room bedsit. It was a lonely and depressing place to come back to, so he was glad of the routine and company a job offered.

The clinic was mostly coughs and colds, but being in the inner city he saw his fair share of issues that came hand in hand with deprived areas. Drug use, neglect, spousal abuse, that kind of thing. It saddened him when there was little he could do but patch them up and send them on their way.

He was finishing up for the day, hunt and pecking the notes for his last patient of the day. There was a soft knocking at the door, and his Boss/unsuccesful date Sarah pushed her head in.

"John..." She said charmingly, which meant she wanted something. "I know your supposed to be done for the day, but as you know since Jay left we`ve got no one to go to the Shelter and I`ve got to do evening surgery here..."

Ah ok, John could see where this was going. "So, you`d like me to go?"

"Yes, if you`re free." She added. "It`s totally voluntary as you know, so I can`t force you but, you`d be really helping me out of a bind. Just this once." Her face pleaded with him.

John couldn`t really refuse a request from a pretty woman, even if their date had gone nowhere and there seemed zero chances of a second. "Sure." He said smiling to tell her it was no big deal. What else was he going to be doing.

"You`re a star. You can get a map from reception and the nurse at the shelter will show you the ropes." Sarah said before closing the door, she was obviously busy.

John sighed, picking up his cane as he prepared to leave. The Kings Cross Shelter was one of the few homeless shelters that allowed drug use on premises. It mainly dealt with cocaine and heroin users. but also allowed multi and alcohol users too. The idea was to offer a safe environment for users, have staff trained to deal with their specific issues and give advice, and keep drug use off the streets.

It was an entirely non-profit organization relying on government grants and donations, and the clinic he worked at volunteered a doctor once a week to run a clinic session for the users who needed more medical treatment than the regular nurse could provide.

It should be good for him, he told himself. But at the same time, he knew he`d be faced with the harsh realities of long term drug use and homelessness, the forgotten and unwanted dregs of society.

He ate dinner before he arrived, and users were filling in for the night when he arrived at the clinic. The staff made him feel welcome, gave him a visitors tag, showed him around and explained the aim of their project. Eventually he was shown to the clinic, where a slightly scatty brained nurse called Molly was sorting out supplies.

As soon as the clinic hours started, the shelter`s users started coming in. It was as he was expected, ordering blood tests and giving results, treated infected injection sites, infected feet wounds etc. He saw various levels of addiction, some interested in getting clean where Molly would give out leaflets and explain various rehabilitation programs available, some not.

John tried not to let the people who didn`t help get to him, the ones with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks that looked like they wouldn`t survive the winter. He didn`t lecture them, that was not the point of the project, and he had learnt to not lecture Harry now, because it didn`t work.

Molly and John had just finished redressing a nasty foot ulcer of a 50 year old alcoholic who was half soused when she informed him they were done for the night. She smiled brightly despite working every day here. "Thanks for coming to help." She said.

"No problem." Now that he was finished, he felt kind of good for doing this. Maybe he should volunteer here more regularly? The staff seemed friendly and he agreed with the ethos of the project.

Well that was him done for the night, time to go home properly. Molly locked up the door behind him, and lead him to the front desk. He bent over behind reception, filling in a basic report and signing his name out of the log book. Molly stood beside him, and evidently had started talking to one of the project users.

"Sherlock you`re late! I`ve already closed the clinic." She said above him.

"Yes I had to see a man about a dog..." Obvious euphemism there. "But I only need fresh needles." The voice sounded totally out of place for place like this, public school educated, but then again drug addiction didn`t discriminate.

"You should come earlier so I could give you a check up, the doctor is here too today." Molly was obviously fussing for some reason.

"Just the needles Molly..." The voice sounded exasperated, then the tone changed. "Have you cut your hair? It suits you." The man was obviously just trying to flatter her to get what he wanted. But that deep baritone voice...something about the false charm to it....

"Oh no, just wore it differently today..." She seemed to faff around some more as if embarrassed, "I`ll get you the needles." She said as she passed him. "Bye John..." 

The man had started to drum some rhythm onto the counter and John slowly raised his head above the counter, to look at the tall pale man looking impatient and fidgety. After a second, recognition dawned; same blue coat and dark curly hair of the pick pocket.

The thief noticed he was being stared at. His dilated blue eyes flicked over him, and soon recognition matched his own. "Dr John....Watson."

"You!" John said accusingly, mouth hanging open slightly at the sheer coincidence of bumping into the man who had pick pocketed him two months earlier. Shock soon turned into anger. The night his wallet was lifted had been a right nightmare. No money, no travel card, no cash cards. Up piss creak and no paddle. Luckily he had his phone still and he had to call his sister to come bail him out, which he had been less than pleased about. What had been even worse was canceling all his cards and finding out from his bank he had been cleared out. Again he had to ask Harry for money until his next pension payment came in.

Now the cause of all that misery was right in front of him. The man (Sherlock?) read the anger in his face, and as if on second instinct turned and fled towards the main entrance of the shelter.

"Come back!!" John shouted after him. But the pick pocket was swift, and had already hit the button for the lock of the door to get out before John was even around the reception desk.

The door had auto locked it`s self before he reached it, and he was impeded hitting the button again. He barreled down the steps to the street, looking left and right looking for that tale tell coat. There! But Sherlock was already turning the corner. John ran as fast as he could and tried to spot the man down the alley he`d turned.

Fuck! He`d lost him already. Well of course a homeless guy would know these streets a lot better than him, who knows where he`d gone. He was panting from the burst of energy, and as his initial anger faded guilt started to eat at him. Sure he`d been robbed by the man, but now he`d just possibly chased him away from a warm bed for the night. What was he going to do if he caught him? Call the police? So much for a safe place the shelter tried to provide. Get his money back? Ha that would have gone into his arm long ago.

Just then the pain in his leg brought him out of his moral dilemma, and he realized he`d not used his cane in the high speed chase after the thief. His therapist was right, it was psychosomatic. Embarrassed, he limped back down the street to go back to the clinic to pick up his things.

 

Sherlock puffed at the top of the scaffolding leaning dangerously over the top rail. As he watched the doctor look around confused. He was as high as a kite, and felt exhilarated and powerful over just a two minute chase. He looked down from the dizzying heights, both figuratively and literally and grinned that he had evaded his pursuer so easily. If the idiot only thought to look up he was there in plain view.

He had been buzzing and impatient, wanting Molly to go get the needles for him so he could go back to his room before his cocaine high wore off, so he could inject morphine to take the edge off the come down. His good vein was collapsing, he`d need to switch to his ankles if he wasn`t careful, hence he wanted fresh sharp needles.

Bit of flattery and Molly had gone to get what he wanted. Sherlock was left to get lost in his own mile a minute thoughts, going through a violin composition he was working on. It felt like he could write a thousand sonatas when he was in this mood. When he still had a flat, sometimes he`d come down from an intense drug binge to have dozens and dozens of sheet music he had composed through the sleepless days and nights. On second review he`d have to admit it was mostly crap. But some of them had been actually quite good.

Sherlock had heard her call the man behind the counter John, and assumed him to be the doctor doing the clinic today. He continued his tapping until he noticed he was being stared at. The composition filling his head faded into the back ground and everything seemed to go in slow motion, or his thoughts sped up. "Doctor. John...." He knew that name from somewhere. After what seemed like an eternity of scanning his archives, he hit the right data. "...Watson." The man looked angry? Oh, because he`d pick pocketed this man a little while ago. 

_Bugger._

Then his stimulant boosted instinct took over, flight or fight and because he remembered Dr Watson had needed a cane he chose flight and bolted for the door.

Outside he took a left, then a right dodging cars fearlessly as he ran across the road into the alley where he knew there was being renovations done and he leapt onto the scaffolding and hoisted himself up with little effort. He quickly and efficiently got to the top, adrenaline pumping through his veins with the coke.

It had worked, and now he observed John Watson as he turned to head back to the clinic. Like a cat he balanced along the boards to go to the other end so he could lean over and observe the man limp back to the hostel.

He had ran that far without a cane, but once he gave up the pursuit had remembered the pain. Psychosomatic. Interesting. His mind was going through theories when he saw the doctor re-emerge and head towards the tube station.

In this state Sherlock was feeling confident enough that the doctor hadn`t said anything, after all nearly everyone staying in that hostel was involved in petty crime of some sorts, so he could return to the hostel for the night. He snaked down the iron bars of the scaffolding, and returned the hostel Molly letting him in with a bit of a confused look. He wordlessly took the box of needles ignoring her questions.

Sherlock had planned to sleep tonight, he couldn`t remember the last time he had. He had promised himself to eat the meal provided by the hostel, take the morphine to take the edge off his come down and finally sleep. That`s why he`d stood for hours that afternoon queuing to get a bed. Food, clothes wash, shower, sleep.

But sleep, after that experience? No no, he was thinking about John Watson, that psychosomatic limp, and his compositions. He grabbed some paper and a pen at the main entrance and retreated to his room. No not morphine, he could feel his high fading but he wanted to keep hold of this exhilarated feeling as long as possible, so he prepared another intravenous hit of coke, taking out the new needle from its plastic wrapping. When done, Sherlock threw away the needle and picked up the pen instead. He had some compositions to write down, and theories about the army doctor with an imaginary limp. He could work on both at the same time, he could do anything right now, he felt like a god.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock`s victim catches up with him, but John bites off a bit more than he can chew with Sherlock.

When John had told Sarah he`d like to regularly volunteer at the shelter, she had been delighted. He told her how he`d like to put back into society, anyway he could (with his limp). And while that was true, there were other reasons too. The addicts he saw struck home a bit with Harry, how despite he wish she`d give up the drink he was glad it was able to control her drinking enough to stay (reasonably) functional in society.

Then there was that cunt pick-pocket. Ok ok, he`d decided that while there was nothing in the form of retribution he would gain from tracking the man down, he was still angry about it. He wanted the thief to face one of his victims, maybe it`d be enough to make the man realise the error of his ways, be the impromptus to get him clean.

....Well maybe not. But he`d feel better telling the man what a cunt he was. Real professional there John, he told himself.

But beneath his anger and irritation, he was curious how a well spoken man had come to the depths of drug addiction and sleeping rough. Surely he didn`t need to sleep rough? Even John had Harry, usually the middle and upper classes had those connections to stop them falling through the cracks into non-existence. Unless it was a choice. Then again, why?

So he`d returned for another clinic hours at the hostel, keeping his eye out for a blue coat and brown hair around the corridors, even popping his head into the kitchen area when dinner was being served. Obviously not here today.

At the end of the clinic hours, John helped Molly clean the office up. "You remember that man..." he asked, quickly realizing from the nurses blank expression he`d have to be more specific. "The one you spoke to at the front desk....Sherlock was it?"

Her face instantly brightened at the name. Oh lord she was smitten. "Oh yes Sherlock." She acknowledged as she wiped down the counter surface with disinfectant.

"Yes him, know a surname?" He inquired innocently.

She seemed a bit puzzled, but answered none the less. "Sherlock Smith." She said wryly. "I think you`ll find half the people who sign in here are Smith."

John snorted amusedly, "Yes of course." So that wasn`t going to be helpful. "Know his history?"

With that question she looked a bit downtrodden, like she wished she knew that information too. "Not really. Heavy intravenous cocaine and opiate user. No one really likes him, he can be a bit sharp if you prod too deeply." But you obviously still like him, John thought to himself. Molly continued, "He once had a drug rehab councilor in tears, so we just let him come to us in general."

"I see..." John mulled over the information. "Seen him recently?"

Again she looked disappointed. "He checked out last week, he comes and goes, usually on the tail end of a massive coke binge to take some kind of opiate to sleep through his crash. Cleans himself up a bit, and then goes on his way. I think he`s been on the streets a while, not that you`d know it from the looks of it, so I guess he can take care of himself."

So persistence would be needed here. John switched tracks as they finished putting everything away. "You know Molly." He said, "I really enjoy working here, I think I`d like to get more involved, volunteer more time. I only work part-time as a locum so I`m at a loose end most of the time anyway."

The nurses face brightened, "Really? That would be smashing." She seemed genuinely happy. "All hands on deck and all that, we really could do with all the help we can get. I`ll tell Dean, he can sort out the times you can come in." She seemed pleased to have another pair of medical hands to help out.

"Great." John replied with a smile. It was technically true, he did want to help. But he also wanted to increase his chances of meeting Sherlock `Smith`, and in case he was now avoiding the doctor`s clinic he wanted to catch him out.

 

Sherlock sat at one of the dining tables, the plate of half eaten chicken curry in front of him. He was crashing hard, and the temazepam he`d taken to get him through his withdrawal wasn`t really helping. He didn`t feel like eating, but he knew he hadn`t eaten for several days and he had to acknowledge that the transport did occasionally need food and rest. He wanted to crash in a safe place, where his belongings weren`t going to be stolen when he slipped into the warm slumber of heroine he` d procured. But until then he needed to fulfill the boring needs of food and laundering, currently his spare clothes were being tumble dried in small communal wash room.

He returned to the mundane task of shoveling bland chicken curry and rice into his mouth. He registered that someone had sat at the table opposite him, but didn`t look up to acknowledge. The junkies here were even less interesting than the food.

"Mind if I join you?" The voice said, which finally made him look up. It wasn`t a drawl of a mind-rotted junkie, nor any of the staff and they knew better than to try and talk to him.

When he saw the sandy blond hair he`d first seen in Leicester square, the same face from the military ID, he stopped chewing, but otherwise didn`t let his surprise show across his face.

The man was obviously putting on some false cheer and casualness, as he picked up a fork to eat the same curry Sherlock was eating. "Kitchens had left overs, guess a perk of volunteering." He started tucking into the food with the gusto Sherlock lacked.

This behavior was interesting, and Sherlock sat back in the plastic chair of the dining room to take in all the details of the man. Well he obviously wasn`t trying to catch him again, surely he recognized him. Yes of course he did, don`t be an idiot Sherlock he chided himself. This was obviously some kind of ruse. But for what ends he wasn`t sure. He slowly chewed the rest of food in his mouth and swallowed, and pyramided his hands in front of himself to just silently observe the man.

The doctor had noticed he had stopped eating, and pointed to Sherlock`s plate with the end of his fork. "Should eat it before it gets cold." He advised. "Not bad though is it." The shorter man said going back to his own plate.

Finally Sherlock spoke. "Dr. Watson, I presume." He was declaring he knew who the doctor was, he waited for a reaction.

"Yes, new volunteer doctor here, do a few clinic hours, help around." John looked up with enquiring blue eyes. "You heard about me?" he asked innocently.

Sherlock`s mouth set into a hard line of irritation. Was this man really an idiot, did he really not recognize him?

But John interrupted his thoughts with another inquiry, "Or do you still remember me from when you nicked my wallet."

Oh...ok, not a complete idiot then, Sherlock deduced. His face relaxed slightly, but still kept poker blank. "Oh I remember you. Poor doctor just back from Afghanistan with the psychosomatic limp, was hardly worth my time lifting from you."

John tried to hide his surprise at the open lack of remorse and mention of his limp. How had he known it was psychosomatic?

But Sherlock didn`t let up there, he leaned forward onto his elbows on the table, "So by chance you have bumped into the man that pick pocketed you two months ago. Why this indirect confrontation then? You must be pissed some junkie took your month`s pension." Sherlock`s expression hardened, going in for the kill. "You can`t go to the police, for one, evidence. You have none. The CCTV cameras would not have been able to pick up enough detail to see me dip your jacket pocket. Do you know how the Met is trying to deal with London`s pick pocketing epidemic? Operation spider web, a multi-section task force also known as the `dip squad`. They carry out raids on the homes of pick-pocketing rings, and have increased their undercover police officer presence." Sherlock gave the man a cocky smile, "But those police officers are more obvious than the Romanian gangs they keep an eye out for, One well dressed Englishman is simply not on their radar. Besides they need to witness me in the act, or attempting an act of theft. No one saw me John, and there is nothing to link me to the wallet I dumped into the bin after I guessed your pin number."

Sherlock had almost forgot his withdrawal, this was turning out far too amusing. "Really John, I hope you picked a better pin number this time. The first two and last two numbers of your service number was just too obvious. Maybe if you didn`t carry around your military ID, but you`re sentimental, can`t bring yourself to part with it. I have always thought sentimentality was a weakness, and you proved me right."

The cruel grin spread across Sherlock`s face as he took in John`s bewilderment. If John thought he`d come in to confront a common junkie, he was sorely mistaken.

John had long ago stopped eating as he listened to Sherlock rattle off his deductions. "Wow, that`s brilliant."

Even Sherlock hadn`t expected that. He thought he`d goad him into anger or humiliation, the doctor would storm out and quit his humanitarian venture as soon as it had started. "Really?"

John had managed to process things a bit and he shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah I guess for pick pocketing that`s quite amazing." With forced casualness he returned to his dinner.

Sherlock`s coke infused ego fluttered a bit at the back compliment. "That`s not what people usually say." He admitted.

"Oh what do they say?"

"Piss off you fucking junkie scum." Sherlock said stoically.

John had to let out a chuckle at that. "Well I can kind of see that, maybe scum is a bit harsh, junkie thief probably more accurate."

"Quite." Sherlock agreed relaxing his arms by setting them down on table. "So you`re not here to get me arrested." He started to roll his eyes, "Please don`t be thinking I`m going to be some kind of charity case project for you, the fallen public school boy in the depths of drug addiction hell." Sherlock said sarcastically, "Take him under his wing, get him clean, set him on the social straight and narrow. Make a productive member of society."

John shook his head. "Nope."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. That was usually the motivation for most staff who spoke to him, and he soon made them regret it by pointing out the inadequacies in their life that drove them to try and help the lost causes of the hostel. "Oh?" He prompted.

"Won`t work, your too much of a stubborn pillock to quit unless you want to." John knew the type well. "And you don`t want to quit." He threw that out there as a statement not a question for Sherlock.

"Quite right." Sherlock agreed, and reached into his pocket to pull out his cigarettes. At a place where most people shot up heroin in their rooms, no one bothered enforcing a no smoking rule. He`d spent some of his aggression in that, and he was feeling a bit more relaxed despite the crash climbing up on him. He was already thinking about the warm shower, and even warmer heroine daze to come.

"You should finish that." The doctor told him, he`d already finished your own plate. Now he had seen Sherlock up close, he could see how gaunt he really was under that long coat, the shirt looking looser than it was tailored for. The clothes looked expensive and well made, but you could see they had been worn well.

"What day is it?" Sherlock asked taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Thursday." John replied setting his cutlery on his clear plate. 

"I`ll be fine for a few more days." Sherlock brushed the man off with his fingers, already thinking about the fix of heroin in his pocket. Cigarette, get his laundry, shower, bliss, in that order.

Because he was lost in his own thoughts, Sherlock missed John`s look of disapproval. But the doctor didn`t say anything. Sherlock was obviously back on the tracks of his addiction roller-coaster.

John left him, ash dangling from the end of his cigarette about to fall so lost in thought the other man was.

He slipped out of the dining room leaning not so heavily on his cane as he usually did. That was not how he expected it the encounter to go. Maybe an insincere apology, not being hit by an intellectual juggernaut. If that was what the guy was like using drugs, what on earth was he like sober? There was no way of denying it, a homeless junkie Sherlock may be, but John was still impressed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock the consulting pick pocket.

Sherlock looked at himself in the slim mirror, fixing his purple shirt under his jacket. The single basic room was all the hostel provided for the night, but this was luxurious by hostel standards. It could be a shared room ranging from anywhere up to a dozen filthy vagrants crammed onto cots. You could barely relax through the night, your belongings under your head as a pillow, one hand entwined in the strap. Having your money or drugs stolen was the least that could happen to you.

He had already been thrown out and banned from 3 hostels in the inner London area for using drugs, or losing his temper with the do-gooder staff. Zero tolerance policy. Absolutely ridiculous.

But then he`d overheard of a singles hostel in Kings Cross that was rather cushy because you had a room to yourself, and they allowed drug use in your room. Usually you had to wait from the afternoon to get a spot in the evening, but Sherlock usually managed to bully or manipulate his way to the front when he wanted a bed for the night.

But now it was morning, and he felt like shit. Turning away from the smeared reflection of himself, he sat down at the desk pushing his things away to make space. He carefully opened the wrap made from magazine paper at the white powder left. This is all he had for the day, but it would be enough, maybe. He`d need to go to get money today, enough to start his next drugs binge.

He tipped the powder onto the desk, and fished out a credit card (in the name of Miss K. Jones) to start breaking up any lumps and arranging it into a line. He snorted it, immediately feeling his sinuses go numb. Intravenous was his method of choice, but he just needed a bit of a perk up to get him through the next few hours, to function. He pressed his finger tip onto any remaining powder mopping it carefully up and rubbed it over his gums, not wanting to waste any.

He waited and the anxiety ebbed, he felt bright and alert once again. Ok, money, scoring, maintaining that high was his objective for the day.

Sherlock picked up his violin case, planning to leave it in a locker at Kings Cross station for the day so he would not be impeded. That, his phone, and the clothes on his back was all he had of value. The violin case was now scuffed, but inside the violin was pristine. He had twice pawned it for instant cash but had always managed to pick-pocket enough to retrieve it. 

Leaving his room he looked up and down the corridor, wondering if anyone had ODed in the night. There would be the gathering of staff at the door to a room, hands on hips shaking their heads. One look at the room and body, and Sherlock could tell you nearly everything of their circumstances, what started their drug addiction, why they were homeless, for how long etc. But no one today, Sherlock was a bit disappointed.

He signed out, and pulled out his phone planning already to arrange to meet a dealer in a few hours, confident he could have some money by then. When he saw the new text he was even more confident he would.

The message was from the ring leader of a Lithuanian gang of pickpockets, asking for information on where the Met dip squad was focusing their efforts this week. They had been hit hard of late, and struggling.

See Sherlock was well known the best pickpocket in London, and that was because he had information. He was a ghost, but he kept contact`s pockets well lined to know exactly what the police and pick pocketing gangs were up to in their little game of cat and mouse. Most amusing as it was.

So sometimes other pickpockets would come to him wanting to know what areas the police were working in and to subsequently avoid them. He was consulting pickpocket, if you will.

He smiled to himself, and sent a reply naming his fee. They were desperate, but a well organized gang could make 10 times that in one day.

He had already sent his `order` to a dealer when the Lithuanian replied, agreeing to his fee.

Sherlock told him to meet him at Oxford Circus tube station, where he received the money and told the burly leader what he wanted to know. 

Well, with that money he would have enough for a good 3 day drug binge as well as paying off other expenses. Things were looking bright already. He looked up at one of the many CCTV cameras around Oxford Circus. He gave a smirk, and for good measure he gave the two fingered salute before ducking away intending to get lost in the people and blind spots once again.

 

John was actually really enjoying working at the Kings Cross singles shelter. It was a tight nit team of volunteers, and John felt like he was fitting in somewhere. A locum doctor was just a temp, filling in the vacant spots when needed. But at the shelter he was accepted readily by Molly and the others. It felt good to be a part of a team again.

He came to know the regulars that dropped, some were more amiable than others, some clearly barely on planet earth. But that was ok, everyone had their story.

But one story he really wanted to know about was Sherlock, sadly no one knew much about him. He checked the log book when he came in, spotting Sherlock`s distinctive cursive easily. He`d missed him a few times, but he was glad the tall man was still coming in. Transients often just disappeared, and unless someone knew, it was hard to know if they had moved on, gone to jail or even died.

Today John had arrived early than his clinic hours to help with the intake, and he was glad to see a tall man file in, looking disgruntled at having to wait. The doctor could not keep in grin off his face, "ah one of London`s finest pickpockets returns."

Sherlock did not look amused, as he slammed his violin case down on the counter. "The finest." He corrected, picking up his pen to sign in his name to a room number.

John glanced at the case. "You play?"

Sherlock looked like he was having his patience tested. "What use is a violin to a junkie who doesn`t play?" 

The doctor gave a dry chuckle, ignoring Sherlock`s prickliness. "Guess not. Any good?"

Sherlock seemed to relax a bit at the opportunity to boast. "Very Good." He said before sweeping the case off the Formica counter.

"Oh, I would like to hear." John said trying to catch the tall man before he disappeared completely.

John`s persistence seemed to pay off, and Sherlock paused a bit. "Ok." Was all he said before leaving to go to his room. It was obvious the reason for his impatience and John was happy for the moment with the promise. He helped with the rest of the intake until they no longer had any beds and had to turn the rest away.

He looked at his watch, he had an hour before the clinic officially started and he had given Sherlock plenty of time to `freshen up`. He went to the room Sherlock was staying for the night, and knocked gently.

"I`ve not ODed." Came a reply from within, and John rolled his eyes a bit before opening the door.

Sherlock had made himself at home in the sparse single bed room, sitting at the small desk shoved against the wall. One shirt cuff button was undone, and his gear was laid out neatly on the desk next to a battered old tin. He`d clearly just shot up, and seemed more amicable at least if not a bit surprised to see the doctor. "Yes?" He inquired in his deep voice. He showed no shame or embarrassment with his openly displayed drug paraphernalia.

"In the mood to play now?" John asked.

Sherlock seemed to mull it over for a moment, before quickly deciding. "Yes." He actually was in the mood to play, and with a willing audience even better.

With quick precise movements he swung around to the case on the bed, and flipped the catches.

John settled himself with his back against the door, leaning heavily on his cane. There was no other chair in the room. Sherlock was rubbed rosin along the bow, before picking up the dark mahogany violin from it`s case.

John didn`t know about these things, but it looked expensive. He wondered how Sherlock had had the self control not to sell it when he needed a fix. But then Sherlock had his means to make money.

Sherlock stood and placed his chin delicately on the violin, and started to play something at a furious pace. It was manic and unrelenting, probably just how Sherlock felt right now.

But of course Sherlock had been right. He was good. Very Good. John was almost taken aback at the other man`s skill. The other man`s brow furrowed and he closed his eyes in intense concentration. When it came to an end, he took a deep breath as he took the instrument away.

"Wow." Was all John said. "That`s pretty amazing."

Without looking at John Sherlock sat back down the violin resting on his lap. "Paganini." He explained. "24 caprices #1"

John didn`t know here or there. "It`s brilliant." 

Sherlock wasn`t so happy with himself, he had picked a challenging piece and there had been mistakes. "For a drug addict."

John tried not to roll his eyes. "No for anyone that`s brilliant."

Ego soothed a bit Sherlock didn`t contain his smirk. "I suppose so." He rested the violin carefully on the bed and flexed his right arm a bit. He flinched a bit at the shot of pain that ran up his forearm.

John caught the flinch and frowned in concern. "What`s wrong?"

"It`s nothing." Sherlock brushed him off, not looking at the doctor.

But John wasn`t going to take that. "Your arm isn`t it." He asked, and picked up his cane to move closer. "Come on, let me take a look."

"It`s fine." Sherlock said trying to ignore the doctor. 

"Let me see, if you get an infection you could lose that arm." John tried to warn.

"I told you it`s fine." Sherlock said irritated, but relented rolling up his purple sleeve.

John bent down to inspect the underside of the other man`s arm. There was evidence of years of abuse, to recent bruised pinpricks. He could see the fresh one where Sherlock had obviously just used.

Near the joint of his forearm there was a dark purple bruise. "It`s collapsing." He told Sherlock.

"Obviously." The pick pocket shot back dryly.

John prodded the area around it a bit, looking for any reaction of pain or discharge. "But not infected. You need to let it heal. What gauge needle do you use?"

"29." The other man answered not meeting the doctor`s eyes.

John moved his hands up the pale arm to inspect Sherlock`s hand. "You have useable veins in your hand, you should switch there until your arm heals. It will be easier with a 31g though, get them from Molly." He let go of Sherlock`s hand. "It`s safer to use your hands before legs and feet." He advised.

Sherlock nodded, obviously getting uncomfortable with discussing the damage his habit was causing his body.

John picked up his cane, and backed off from Sherlock a bit. "Get the smaller gauge needles, give your arms a break." He limped to the door. "You have any more problems come and see me." He left Sherlock alone, and before he reached the end of the corridor he heard the violin start again, this time slower and more gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a thought. I do a lot of research for fics, and I try and adhere to some realism but there`s lots of stuff I don`t go into detail. For example I`ve been reading up a lot on intravenous drug use. Like it`s true, the order of safety for injecting is arms>hands>feet>legs>groin>neck. If your injecting into the neck it`s time to give up. John recommends a smaller gauge needle for the smaller veins and to not cause as much damage to the walls with repeated intravenous injecting. Would you like more technical detail in the fic? Or make notes about what is true? Is it me that just finds this interesting lol. Let me know! Ta.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation spider-web brings in a consultant.

DI Lestrad loved his job, but since the formation of Operation spider-web, he loved it less so. London`s organized pick pocketing gangs had been steadily rising over the years, and with two major events this year promising to bring a lot of tourism to the city, the Met was under pressure from way above to get something done. Coming on holiday and getting your bag walked off with at the train station wasn`t the best image to have for the city.

He sat back in his office chair, looking at the huge map of London hanging on his wall. The multitude of pins and notes made it really look like a spider web. The reason they called it operation spider web was because this was involving so many departments. Theft, fraud, organized crime, etc. Lestrad had been a bright star of the narcotics department with good people skills, so he had been tasked with trying to organize this...monster.

But the gangs involved were so tightly organized, more organized than them. The gangs would travel all the way across London, to work in little organized groups, the spotter, the lifter, the look out. It was a profession, and a highly profitable one at that. It was so labor intensive having under cover police tailing suspicious people, and waiting until they finally made an attempt to pick someone's wallet or ipad. He just wish people would do up the sodding zip on their bags! Maybe they should have just invested their money in posters. 

_Nah, wouldn`t work._

People just didn`t think until it was too late. He had a particularly zealous transport police constable who made it his mission to teach the general public a lesson, walking off with their bags and suitcases as they gazed at their smart phones or the train time boards. When they eventually noticed all their belongings were gone, the constable would be waiting to give them a stern warning saying `it only takes a moment`.

With the city`s events looming over them and the economy in the pits, home office was getting worried. So now he was waiting for a hasty new transfer into the department. Some kind of strategic law enforcement genius, had reduced pick pocketing in Birmingham by 60%. Think of him as a consultant they said. That was Birmingham, this was the big city Lestrad thought.

There was a knock at the door, and a small unassuming man in a sharp suit walked in. "DI Lestrad?" he asked.

"That`s me." The older man replied standing up. "My new team member?"

"Yes, DS Jim Moriarty." The man said in a soft Belfast accent, and they shook hands. Lestrad noticed the sergeant's hands were slightly cold and clammy, the shake a bit effeminate. Didn`t think they`d be going to the pub for a pint. "I hear you have a problem with pick pockets."

"Yup." Lestrad replied gesturing to the map before setting his hands on his hips under his grey rumpled suit jacket. "If you can make heard or tails of it, I`m all ears for your ideas."

The other police officer gave him a small smile and put his hands in his pockets. His gaze shifted to the map, scanning all the little dots and string, processing them. "Might have a few."

Those blue eyes were so cold, there was something DI Lestrad didn`t like about Moriarty.

 

John had been back in the dessert, laying face up in the sand. He could hear machine gun fire, an IED going off, shouting. His shoulder felt wet, he could feel the life draining out of him into the sand underneath him. He wasn`t going to make it this time, he was sure.

The phone ringing beside him woke him with a start and he sat up bolt upright. He was panting, and sweating. He slowly realized he was in his single room bedsit. The only thing wet he could feel now was his cheeks. He furiously scrubbed them away as if that would get rid of the memory too, and looked at the clock. It was just past 6AM. Who would be ringing him at this time? Sarah? The Locum agency?

He squinted at the caller display, it was Molly. He opened it and answered groggily. "Hello?"

"John?" She asked. "I`m sorry it`s so early, but we`ve got a bit of an emergency." 

"What`s wrong?" He asked.

"Someone ODed, Dean`s trying to get a coroner to come out."

John automatically asked "Who?"

"Shane." Molly said, and John let go of a breath he hadn`t realized he`d been holding. 

"Oh, shit." John said, at the same time relieved it wasn`t Sherlock, and he felt bad about that.

"I can`t go and help right now, would you mind getting people out and checking the rooms? It shouldn`t take so long are you working this morning?"

John tried hard to think, "Um no. I mean yes I can come."

"Oh thank you!" Molly said sounding relieved. "Just make your way over, nobody likes to get up early anyway."

"Yeah sure." John said his goodbyes and ending the call. He was actually glad to have the distraction from the nightmares that haunted him.

 

John had spent the morning muddling through the paper work checking out the residents that had stayed the night. The coroner had only just arrived. ODed druggies weren`t a priority, despite Kings Cross hospital being around the corner. No that was being too cynical he thought, the NHS was so over taxed. Maybe.

John had shown him to the room where Dean the hostel manager was waiting. That was the only time he got a look at the body, it seemed a shame. Shane was young, and had died alone. John knew how lonely that felt.

The coroner`s people wheeled a stretcher past with a body bag past him, and he watched it go by. Shane had never listed a next of kin, was there anyone to collect his body? Was anyone going to miss him.

The graying coroner followed the stretcher. "Looks like accidental OD." He said unmoved, obviously wanting to get a bit of shop talk done with a fellow doctor.

Before John could reply, another voice from the corridor chimed in "Wrong."

Both the coroner and John looked at the voice, to see it was Sherlock leaning against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest.

"I beg your pardon?" The coroner asked a bit flabbergasted. He wasn`t sure who he was talking to exactly. John`s mouth hung open slightly, eyes glancing from the coroner to Sherlock.

"Nothing accidental about that OD." Sherlock coolly corrected him.

The coroner seemed to think Sherlock worked here, "Oh so you knew him, he was depressed?"

"Never spoke to him in my life." Sherlock kept that intense stare on the old coroner. "But the manager walking up and down the corridor woke me up, that can only mean one thing. So I got a quick peek while everyone was busy."

Oh shit, I`m staff John realized and tried to interject. "Uh...Sherlock." If they pissed off this guy then who knows how long they`d make them wait next time, a drug friendly hostel had a bad enough rep as it is.

But Sherlock ignored him. "Didn`t you see for yourself?" The pick pocket asked, and before the coroner could reply. "His clothes, his gear, all old and used. This was not a well heeled drug user. Heroin was the only thing that man was concerned about for quite a few years. But the spoon, did you not see the black residue? He was a habitual user of the low grade heroin known as tar. So we know he was used to injecting crap. But the ruminants of the cap he had just purchased was expensive and quite pure diacetylmorphine." 

_Oh my god,_ John thought. Sherlock`s off his tits, and he had no way to stop him and the homeless man was just getting started. His glare intensified at the old coroner.

"No addict is going to go from injecting tar to pure stuff and not take into account the quality of what you`re injecting, especially if you want to live to morning. He had saved up his begging money, why a beggar? Look at him what else could he be! Lots of scars, but no injection sites fresher than two days on his neck. My god he must have wanted a fix, the withdrawal setting in, that shaking, that ache to his bones. But he saved up, and then he took the lot in one hit. Of course he was going to die, of course that was intentional!"

Sherlock came to the end of coke head ramble, and waited for a reaction. But both John and the coroner were silent.

"Suicide, not accident." Sherlock prodded.

The coroner couldn`t deny the drug addicts reasoning, and his face went red with embarrassment. He`d just been shown up by a coke head. "It was just a preliminary conclusion..." He muttered, and nodded to John before high tailing it out there.

John blinked and close his mouth. "That was..." he let out a laugh to break the tension. "Amazing."

Sherlock tugged at his shirt collar a smirk twitching the corners of his mouth. "Thank you."

John swallowed to try and get back to being responsible. "But very..." he searched for the words. "Not good, you piss him off and we`ll have to start using the kitchen fridge."

Sherlock couldn`t repress his smile any more. "Would be an improvement over what they usually serve."

John laughed before he could stop himself. "Stop it!" He lowered his voice. "Someone died last night." He said seriously, and it could have been you. But he daren`t say that.

Sherlock seemed unmoved. "Happens all the time, at least he got what he wanted in the end." 

John sighed, "Anyway, you`re the last one so you sign out I`m done, Dean is going to check everything else." He stood up, collecting his cane from where he had left it behind the front desk. "I am going to have a late breakfast, come on I`m buying."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow about to refuse but John stopped him before he could. "What? Pick pocketing can wait, you're as high as fuck right now so you don`t need to score for a few hours." Insisting that Sherlock should eat didn`t seem like it was going to work, John quickly thought of another excuse. "Just keep me company or something." He wasn`t sure the pity card was going to work either on Sherlock.

The taller man drummed his fingers on the wall. "I know a good cafe. " He pulled the blue scarf around his neck, ready to go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John spends the day with the world`s only consulting pick-pocket.

Turns out Sherlock DID know a good cafe, which was surprising considering how little interest he showed in eating. But then he probably knew a lot of places that stayed open late. It was a proper greasy spoon, with the plastic tomato shaped ketchup bottles, and big builders mugs of tea. There was the constant sizzle of bacon and sausages and the low drone of the small TV anchored high up on the wall.

Now this was the kind of thing John missed in Afghanistan, the officers mess just wasn`t the same even if the army cooks could do a banging fry up even in the middle of the dessert, there would be a coup if the men didn`t get fried eggs, bacon and beans.

John was slightly overwhelmed by the variations of the full English chalked up on the menu boards, with even more options penned onto florescent stars and tacked around. By the time he had settled on the full English with extra toast he noticed Sherlock had disappeared. Unsure what to do he ordered two fry ups, and two cups of tea and sat down, hoping Sherlock would return.

He did, flouncing onto the chair coat billowing around him. John looked him over, Sherlock was clearly in a cocaine rush. He lowered his voice bending over the table. "Sherlock, are you kidding me."

The other man looked back innocently, but his constantly moving fingers gave him away. "Did you just..." John was interrupted as the polish girl plonked two mugs of tea down on their table, and he gave her a smile until she went away. He leaned in back closer to Sherlock keeping his voice extra low. "Did you just do coke in the toilets?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow as if in confusion. "Yes..." he said slowly as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

John tried to look a bit irritated. "It`s not even..." He checked his watch. "...11AM. You promised no pick pocketing and no drugs with me."

Sherlock's eyes went dramatically around the room. "I promised no shooting up with you. I snorted that coke."

John sighed, this was going to be an impossible point. Sherlock came back in his defense through attack. "I`ll have you know because of that little promise my coke won`t last me to tomorrow night." Of course, if Sherlock was snorting his he`d need more to get his high, that`s why many heavy users like Sherlock took their drugs through an IV, it made their drugs go longer and gave them a whole load of health risks.

"Who knows what I`ll have to do to get my money." Sherlock was trying to guilt him now. "Turning tricks in Charing Cross toilets. Could get HIV, Hepatitis, syphilis..."

John visibly backed down a bit in defeat. "Alright alright." Sherlock was blatantly lying, the manipulative bastard. Well he hoped he was. Damnit he knew what buttons to push.

Thankfully the plates of breakfast arrived and were settled between them. Sherlock looked a bit surprised at his, he didn`t remember ordering. "What`s this?"

"Breakfast. Just eat it will you." John told him grabbing the ketchup to squeeze out.

Sherlock looked like he was going to protest some more, about how he`d eaten last Monday and didn`t eat on a binge or some crap. John was pretty sure Sherlock could never remember when he last ate, and he was always on a fucking drugs binge. But he seemed to make a concession, and picked up a slice of buttered toast from the plate that sat between them. He wordlessly started to chew on it.

They ate in silence for a while, slowly getting full on bacon, egg, beans and black pudding. When John tried to keep an eye on what he was eating, and noticed a small bruise on the back of Sherlock`s hand, along with more healed prick marks. So he had taken his advice, he was rotating his injection sites. Sherlock must be careful with keeping his gear clean and using only fresh needles, it was hard to tell unless you knew what to look for. He must just favor that left arm for some reason.

When John was satisfied Sherlock had eaten at least half of the truck driver sized portion he spoke up. "So, how`s your arm?" He asked keeping his gaze focused on his plate as he chopped up some crispy back bacon.

Sherlock dramatically waved the toast in the, "Now John." He punctuated his words with his toast. "You promised to not be my doctor or social worker while we`re outside the clinic."

"Well you never come to see me during the clinic hours so this is my only chance." Wait why was he defending himself. "Besides you broke the rules first." He reminded the taller man. "Is your arm ok?" He asked before putting some yolk covered sausage in his mouth.

"It`s fine...." Sherlock drawled, already tired of this conversation. 

John didn`t push any more, it was a rocky enough start as it was. 

The doctor set down his cutlery, absolutely full. He picked up his mug to finish his tea. "So what were you plans for the day? More robbing?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Oh no, I was planning an experiment. Well more an observational experiment."

Sometimes John didn`t know if it was the drugs talking or Sherlock was just barking. "An experiment? What kind of experiment?"

"Well I have a theory..." Sherlock seemed reluctant to give much away. "And today I will see whether I am correct or not."

"I....see." No, John really didn`t. "So observational, you`re just going to observe?"

"That`s right." Sherlock had this kind of patronizing smile, like this was far too complicated a thing to bother explaining to John.

"Nothing that breaks the law?"

"Nooo...." Sherlock drew out as if the idea of him doing anything illegal was preposterous. John looked over his now luke-warm tea at Sherlock. "Could be dangerous though."

John`s eyebrows raised a bit. "Dangerous?"

"There`s always danger in my line of work John." Sherlock said his blue and brown eyes twinkling and a genuine smile being restrained so only the corners of his mouth turned up. "Suppose you saw lots of danger in Afghanistan?"

"Yeah. Plenty." John said slightly transfixed by that steady stare, he couldn`t break away.

Sherlock drew out the tension before asking. "Want to see some more?"

John let out his breath, "Oh god yeah."

 

John struggled to keep up with Sherlock, his leg aching and not having the benefit of Columbia`s finest. Sherlock didn`t seem to let up at all though, and he seemed to be constantly chasing coat tails as they made their way to the busier tourist hot spots of London. Ironically the ended up Leicester square, where Sherlock had pick pocketed him first time.

They were at the other end of the square though, and Sherlock sat down on the concrete base of the black railings that surrounded the grassy inner square. His eyes were scanning the crowd, darting from here to there.

John had to struggle, to sit down next to him trying to bend his leg straight again gingerly to rest it. Sodding leg. "Now what?" He asked.

"Now we...wait." Sherlock explained eyes briefly landing on John before going back to the people milling around. He did seem to be finding some kind of bizarre fun in all this. John just wished he would explain a bit more, he had no clue what this experiment was about.

But the longer they sat there, the more he just started to relax and go with the flow. Couldn`t be that dangerous, middle of Soho mid-day. John tried to look out with Sherlock, wondering what he was seeing. Must be different to what he saw.

Maybe it was an hour, when Sherlock let out an "Ah." His eyes were fixed on the crowd of people queuing up to eat at Burger King.

"What?" John asked trying to see what the other man was looking at.

"An undercover cop is tailing the man in the red cap, who in turn is eyeing up the media type with the side satchel." 

John squinted. "Who?"

Sherlock got a bit impatient with John. "The man with brown hair, who is now talking on the phone. He is a policeman who is now calling for back up."

"Really?" John asked, not too sure how Sherlock would know that.

"Yes, really. He is waiting for our hard working but lacking in any kind of subtlety cockney pick-pocket to attempt to reach into Mr. Media types bag. Then he and his colleagues will move in and make an arrest. The pick-pocket is so focused on his prize he`s totally missed the idiot copper willing him to make the dip quickly so he can go urinate." Sherlock made out he was explaining basic arithmetic to a child.

John watched the man in the red hat, and how he kept edging towards the trendy young guy. "And now, two more police officers have arrived." 

John watched a man with silver hair and younger woman, briefly talk to the man who had been on the phone, before spreading out a bit around the entrance of the restaurant. The woman went in closer to be standing directly behind the man in the red cap. "Oh..." John realized, watching the real life crime drama play out in front of him.

"Can I borrow your phone?"

"What? What for?" John asked.

"I need to send a text."

"You are not sending drug dealers a text from my phone."

Sherlock gave him an annoyed glance. "It`s nothing like that." He held his hand out expectantly.

John relented and just dropped his phone into Sherlock`s hand. The taller man let his gaze drop from the police to open the phone and type in a text at coke head pace. He tossed it back to John to resume looking at crowd.

John couldn`t really see it happening, the woman was in the way, but she suddenly grabbed his arm and the other police officer moved in to pull him out of the queue. The silver hair man went to the trendy media type and pulled him out too, and seemed to be talking to him.

"There you go." Sherlock said, looking pleased with himself. He had been right, the would be thief looked surprised and confused as they read him his rights. "Wait for me a moment John..." He told him as he slowly rose, his eyes never leaving the group he was observing.

"Sherlock?" John asked but was ignored. "Sherlock!" He tried to call him back in a hushed voice. It was too late, Sherlock was going in for a closer look.

Helpless sitting down with his gimpy leg, he watched Sherlock coolly walk up behind the silver haired man as he talked to the near victim. What on earth was he doing??

Sherlock seemed to be studying the fast food menu`s above the counter, and looked like he was trying to get past the two to make a decision about food and join the queue. Only he seemed to change his mind, and turned back with a disgruntled look, like they`d finished a limited edition menu item and came back towards John.

When he was standing in front of John on the floor blocking the view of everyone around them, a smile broke across his face and he tossed a black leather booklet into John`s lap, declaring "souvenir.". John picked it up to look at it and his face fell when he saw the Met badge on the front.

"Sherlock are you insane? Did you just pick-pocket a policeman?" He opened the badge to read the name inside. "Of Detective Inspector G. Lestrade?"

"Oh..." Sherlock said as if coming to some realization. "So that`s DI Lestrade then." He said casually looking back.

"You know him? Who is he?" Oh my god this was bad news he could tell already.

"Well never met him personally." Sherlock explained. "But he`s the head of the dip squad."

It was worse than he imagined, John could barely believe his ears.

"Don`t worry, he`s not noticed yet." Sherlock took one more glance back. "But in about 40 seconds he`s going to finish his spiel about how he should keep his bag done up at all times. "And if DI Lestrade does not habitually keep his badge in his left back pocket and only put it in there as a temporary measure to stow it after identifying himself to the victim....then he may check and attempt to move it back to it`s regular position. Which I think is likely, because that really is the worst pocket to keep anything." Sherlock was looking around the square, from the direction of Soho to the other side that went to Trafalgar square. "In which case I`d suggest we vacate this area promptly." He looked down at the badge still in John`s hand. "Especially since you are in the possession of stolen goods."

Realization dawned on John. "Sherlock you prick."

"Do try to keep up John." Sherlock gave him a playful grin, before turning on his heel to leave John there.

The doctor immediately panicked shoving the badge into his inside jacket pocket. "Wait Sherlock!" He said pushing himself up to chase after the man who`d just made him an accomplice in a theft. He tried to act casual and keep up following behind.

Sherlock was going towards the portrait gallery before making a sharp turn down a narrow side street and breaking out into a run.

Heart beating fast John ran after him, not even realizing he had forgotten his cane next to the black railing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, we`re finally getting to the fun stuff!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets a concerned party.

John chased after Sherlock, through Trafalgar square, dodging tourists and pigeons, only just barely managing cross the road in time to the entrance of St James Park. He thought Sherlock was going to lose him around the corner of the classical style arches that marked the start to the parade road that lead towards Buckingham palace, but when he rounded it he saw Sherlock leaning against the sooty stone wall catching his breath.

"You..." John bent over as he wheezed, he hadn`t done anything that strenuous since army training. "...Idiot." He finished. "What kind of experiment was that?"

Sherlock gave him a grin before a deep chuckle erupted from his throat. "Two experiments actually, I saw an opportunity to test another theory and I took it."

The shorter man managed to straighten up not quite as winded. He should be furious but he couldn`t help but joined Sherlock in laughing. It was so bizarre what else could he do. "What theories?" He asked finally.

Sherlock pushed himself off the wall. "I wanted to see what area`s the dip squad were working today." He clasped his hands behind his back, and strode around the smaller man as he talked. "Like clockwork, there were exactly where I expected."

"Uh so that text..." John said remembering his phone, and going through the sent box. He read it, it was the tube lines and stations, numbers he didn`t understand. "Who exactly did you send this to?"

"Ukrainian gang leader. I`m sure he`ll be pleased about the tip offs for Operation Spider-webs sweep patterns. He now owes me several...." Sherlock considered his words carefully. "Favors." 

John`s brows rose. "Ukrainian gang leader?" He repeated, oh my god what had Sherlock got him involved in.

"No need to sound so alarmed John."

John didn`t feel so reassured. "So why did you have to go and nick that copper`s badge?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "Saw the opportunity, it would help me prove another theory." He slowed his pace, his eyes fixed downwards on something, and he circled like he was inspecting John`s leg.

John looked down, thinking he had something stuck to him. Finally it dawned on him, he`d forgotten his cane and run through central London after a mad man, completely pain free.

Sherlock had stopped and their eyes met again when John looked up at him. "Alright Mr. I`m so clever." He said a bit embarrassed.

The taller man reached out resting his hand on the doctor`s head. "Walk he sayeth, and the cripple walks." He said in the style of a Tale-Evangelist.

"Alright." John said batting the big hand off. "You not bleedin` Jesus Christ you know." His irritation left his voice, "We have enough of those down the hostel, and I believe we have a Zeus as well."

Sherlock laughed at the joke, and John realized how much younger he looked when he wasn`t sneering. But Sherlock stopped when a ring came from inside his coat and finding his own mobile he immediately started scrolling through the message. "Seems I`ll have plenty more favors soon." He said all business again. John`s heart sank a bit, he`d almost forgotten Sherlock was a drug addict chasing his next fix.

He was even more disappointed when Sherlock turned to walk along the path that went around the edge of the park without even a good bye. There was no invitation to join him, and John could tell he`d been forgotten about.

 

John walked around Central London the rest of the day, at the one hand enjoying his new found miraculous mobility, on the other wishing he was still with Sherlock. Which was so stupid, he knew. He was getting paranoid too, he was sure he was being watched, by whom? Police, criminals? 

The paranoia was not alleviated by the black saloon car with tinted windows pull up slowly along him. He tried not to look at it, but it continued to glide along. Finally he stopped and turned, and the car stopped too.

The door swung open and to his surprise was a young smartly dressed lady. She smiled at disarmingly at him. "Excuse me..." She said, and John wondered if she was going to ask for directions. "But my boss thinks you forgot something?" She pulled out from beside her, a cane. No, his cane which he had left earlier that day in Leicester square.

If he said something that that would surely admit that it was his. He just reached out as if to take it back but she swiftly moved it out of reach. "He also wants a chat with you, some business."

The young woman had scooted over, leaving a vacant seat. This was, such a bad idea. John looked up and down the street, which was suspiciously empty as well. "Do I have a choice in this?"

"Not really." She said with a sweet smile, but John was sure that was false. Not knowing what he was letting himself in on, he climbed in the car.

Despite not knowing if he was going to his death or not, he tried to chat up the pretty lady, who said her name was Anthea, only it wasn`t really Anthea...and she ignored his attempts at flirtation, more interested in the blackberry glued to her hands.

The car eventually pulled up to a disused factor, and John was certain he was going to die when the door opened.

He could only see a lone man leaning on an umbrella, and Anthea ignored him. Bracing himself, he got out the car and walked to the lit area.

"Good evening Dr. Watson." said a velvety voice. Getting closer John looked the older man with thinning hair and bespoke tailored suit. "You`ve had an interesting day haven`t you."

John looked around, looking for thugs lurking in the shadows but he couldn`t see any. "You could say that." He replied. The mysterious man didn`t look like a petty criminal, drug dealer or even a police officer.

"Yes," The other man said with a wry smile, still leaning on his umbrella with that jaunty pose. "You hardly look the type to keep company with a drug addict like Sherlock Holmes..."

Holmes? Was that Sherlock`s name? He didn`t even know for sure. The other man seemed to read his mind, " I`m sure he goes by many names, but Holmes is his real name."

"Ok," John said really wishing they`d hurry up and kill him if that`s what they want to do. "Who are you? What`s your business with him?"

The other man shifted his weight a bit, ignoring the who question. "I`m just an interested party, I`m afraid Sherlock Holmes doesn`t appreciate that kind of interest though." John`s imagination went a bit wild, was this some kind of pimp? "He tolerates your company, which is useful to me."

"It is?" John said cautiously, never letting his eyes leave the other man.

"Yes, I am..." The man seemed to be choosing his words carefully, "...concerned about him. If you could provide me with information from time to time, his whereabouts, his condition." The last word seemed to hold particular stress. "I could compensate you handsomely for it.

John didn`t even need to think. "Not interested." Aware that such a bold refusal could mean the end to him.

The other man gave a bemused laugh, "I`ve not even mentioned a figure."

John shook his head, "Doesn`t matter, not interested." He said firmly.

"You`re very loyal, very fast." The man`s stare seemed to harden. "Do you think Sherlock holds you in the same regard?"

Considering the way he`d been abandoned suddenly today, probably not. John shrugged his shoulders. "I barely know him. But I won`t spy on him."

The man`s look questioned that statement. "If you`re sure..." He said disappointment in his voice, and he pulled out a moleskin note book and ripped out a page from it. "If you don`t see Sherlock for a while, please check out the railway bridge at this address. He does like to stay there with the other vagrants. Check his habit hasn`t gotten the better of him and he`s not dead on some cardboard boxes." Some obvious distain there.

John was sure that was some kind of threat, but he took the expensive note book paper and shoved it into his pocket. He still had no clue just who this man was, but there was unspoken menace behind that gentle voice.

"See you some other time Dr. Watson, I do hope it`s not under more tragic circumstances."

John kept himself ridged, not letting any fear show on his face, he wouldn`t give this man the satisfaction. The door of the waiting car opened on invitation, and John went back to it not wanting to look back. Maybe he was going to get out of this alive after all, his hand was as steady as a rock.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes down and out in London.

DS Moriarty looked down to the man he had tied to the chair, chewing on some gum slowly. He should be waking up any moment now. He hoped it would soon, he was absolutely bored. He gave the unconscious man`s shin a kick, and the man groggily opened his eyes groaning around the gag.

"Nice to see you awake." Moriarty told him with a smile. The man started to pull on his bounds but they weren`t budging. "Wouldn`t bother."

It was a small council flat in West London, but it was actually the home of a pick-pocketing leader. The proceeds of crime obviously provided well, the flat was crammed with luxury items. It had been a simple matter to get the address from the police surveillance records, after Moriarty had decided who was going to be the first domino to fall, to spark the chaos he planned.

The man was furious, and tried to shout through the gag, but the sounds were muffled by the duct tape wrapped around his face.

"I suppose it`s not much consolation to tell you, you`re really unlucky." Moriarty told him. "To be the first. But the met has targets to meet and I need to send a message."

He turned to the table, picked up a hacksaw and held it up with this latex gloved hands. This was how he was going to send his message. When he gripped the man's hand and held the serrated edge to the wrist the man started screaming and pulling against the duct tape holding him down. "Don`t move", the policeman said darkly. "I don`t want blood on the Westwood."

 

It had been over two weeks since John had encountered the mysterious super-criminal, and he`d not seen Sherlock since. Even more worryingly the homeless man hadn`t even signed in the log book when he wasn`t there. He tried asking any of the other homeless residents of the hostel, but no-one knew anything. It was a long shot, most were too pissed or high to remember the day of the week, let alone a well dressed haunting crack head.

As the days went by, his worry and guilt grew. Maybe he`d left it too long, maybe the meeting had been a more direct threat on Sherlock`s life than he realized, or maybe he`d just ODed.

Not knowing was driving him crazy, and eventually he snatched up the moleskin note paper from his desk, and went out late at night to find the address.

It was a rundown area near Paddington, and he followed the main line train tracks until he came to a network of train tunnels, where many homeless had already bedded down for the night. The only light was from street lights and fires where bums sat around swigging from cans of special brew and white lighting cider.

Some people stared at him suspiciously,, a few with evident mental problems just mumbled and rocked to themselves.

He couldn`t immediately see anyone Sherlock shaped, and he tried to peer at the people hidden under blankets and boxes.

The doctor heard a bottle smash, and he spun around heart starting to race. Some minor disagreement over a bottle of mouthwash. Sherlock couldn`t be here could he? Sherlock wasn`t like this, with his tailored clothes, articulate speech and violin?

But Sherlock was just like these people, he was after all a drug addicted down and out, who had rejected the social norms and opted out of society and life.

John started to look around make shift curtains, and apologized when he interrupted some people smoking smack off foils.

He could see light peeping out around the edges of a blanket that had been hung up over an alcove. "Sherlock." He said pulling the curtain back. The other man was laying on his back, eyes closed and a few hypodermic needles beside him.

For a second he thought he was too late, Sherlock was already dead. "Sherlock?" He tried again.

Thank god those eyes opened and he looked up at him. "John." He said more than a little surprised to see the doctor.

"Jesus where have you been?" The older man asked.

"Here, thinking...." Sherlock cocked his head as he looked up. "How did you find me?"

"Someone told me, a guy in a suit." John explained.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

Taken aback John replied, "Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed to go back into thought, "Pity, we could have split the money, think it through next time."

"Look I think that guy`s dangerous, I think he`s after you. Just who IS he?!" 

Sherlock waved John away and closed his eyes again, "The most dangerous man you`ll ever meet. But he is of no significance, there are much more interesting things."

For his worry to be dismissed in such a way left John annoyed. "Like what? Shooting up?"

Sherlock`s eyes snapped open again, "No John, the problem." And he bounded up off his mattress of cardboard and blankets with unexpected energy. "Things are changing, and I`m not sure why." He said pacing back and forth. Now John could see him in the view of the street light, he could see Sherlock looked thinner, more dirtier than before.

"What`s changing?" John asked quietly, observing the other man`s manic state.

"Everything, the Romanians, the Poles...and the police activity, it`s changing."  
Sherlock told him.

"I don`t understand..." John said, not sure he ever would.

Sherlock looked irritated, and dived back down to the boxes searching through scraps of papers and needles. He found what he was looking for, and came back to John opening a map of London.

"Two MURDERS John. Two murders of pick-pocketing leaders. From here and..." He indicated somewhere on the map. "Here. Both killed exactly the same way, their hands cut off. Thieves with their hands cut off?" Sherlock snorted. "How obvious."

He threw the map away to resume his pacing, "Now everyone's vying for territory, power struggles. It seems so perfectly orchestrated. But the police! Their patterns are changing too! Before the raids were so....imprecise. But now they`re strategic, going straight for the weak spots. There must be a connection, but I can`t see, I`ve got to THINK." Sherlock rattled off.

John couldn`t watch anymore, "You expect to think high on coke?"

"I think better on coke." Sherlock snapped back. "You cannot comprehend how the intelligent mind works."

John scoffed, finding it difficult to not show his anger. "Intelligent? For god`s sake take a look around you, look at yourself! You`re living under a bridge with the alchies and smack heads!"

Sherlock remained incredibly calm. "I`m not Harry," he said with a fixed stare.

"Wh-what?" John stuttered. 

"Just because your brother is an alcoholic, doesn`t mean you have to save me." Sherlock said calmly.

Brother? But how had Sherlock found out about Harry? And the drinking? "I can read your brother`s history from your phone, it`s ok you don`t need to save me." Sherlock said as if he was giving John permission to leave, just turn around and forget everything.

"No!" John shouted, louder than he intended. "It`s not ok! This is nothing to do with Harry. This is about you, killing yourself slowly." God, once he started he couldn`t stop. "I saw so many people die, and they didn`t have a fraction of your abilities. If they had the chance, they wouldn`t have chosen it." John swallowed, a hard lump was forming in his throat. "When I had the choice, I didn`t want to die."

John had been expecting a break down at some point, but he hadn`t expected to have it under a railway bridge with drunks and schizophrenics. "Do you know what a slap in the face it is to see you do this?" He was shaking now, with either anger or fear he wasn`t sure.

Sherlock didn`t say anything, he just seemed to observe.

"Like, I know that`s an unfair thing to say." John said trying to calm himself and bring himself back from the brink. "Just please I`m worried. You look like shit." John reached out to tug at the heavy wool sleeve of Sherlock`s coat. "Come back and stay with me for one night, just so you can get some rest."

Sherlock finally broke his stare, looking a bit awkward, trying to back away from John`s grasp but didn`t seem to have the will to break contact. "John..." He started, "While I`m flattered by your interest..."

"No, no." John cut him off. "Not like that, just have a shower, some food and sleep. Tomorrow you can go and do anything you want.

Sherlock had to look down into John`s pleading eyes, there was something about the doctor`s desperation that seemed to tear at him. "Ok..." He said, agreeing to John`s proposal eventually.

"Good." John said relieved the tension starting to ebb. "That`s good." At this point he didn`t know who`s sake this was for, he`d overstepped so many professional boundaries. "And Harry is short for Harriet, my sister is an alcoholic. See, you`re not right about bloody everything."

Sherlock quietly tut to himself, "There`s always something."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John brings Sherlock home for the night.

They got a taxi back to John`s bedsit, sitting in silence in the black cab. Sherlock seemed to be crashing, the weary showing in his face.

John lead the taller man to his room, opening the door for them. His room was sparse and basic, the best he could afford. He could see Sherlock`s eyes scanning the room, inevitably being able to read the details of his childhood or favorite crisp packet.

This was so awkward. "You should take a shower...I`ll find you some spare clothes." He said to busy himself.

When he turned back from the dresser with some sweats and an old t-shirt, Sherlock was just standing there staring at him, he seemed anxious about something.

"Sherlock, I`m not going to do anything." He tried to reassure him.

"I know." Sherlock said setting his violin case on the desk. He took the clothes from John, and disappeared into the en suite (if you could call it that) bathroom. John heard the water running, and he ran his fingers through his hair. What was he doing? He asked himself. Just giving a drug addict a bed for the night. Maybe Sherlock was right, maybe he did have a hero complex.

What about dinner? All he had was pot-noodle and white bread, it was hard to be a gourmet when all you had was a single hob ring and mini fridge, which was more useful for pinning take-away menus to the front with magnets.

He had placed an order for Chinese take-away by the time Sherlock emerged from the bathroom wearing the clothes he`d given him, his old ones gathered in his arms.

"Dinner`s on it`s way. Feel better?" John asked.

"A bit, I took some valium." Sherlock told him, some water dripping off his curly hair that was plastered uncharacteristically flat to his head.

"Jesus it`s not that bad kipping with me is it?" John tried to make light of the situation, but he knew Sherlock was on a hard come down, and had taken the tranquilizer to ease his crash.

Sherlock`s lips quirked, "I`ve slept in worse," he said dumping the clothes on the floor. His eyes went to the single bed with military corners in the sheets.

John realized where he was looking, a single bed. "Ah I`ll just kip on the floor, I`ve slept on worse too."

"John, you a military man and myself a product of boarders, I can assume we`re both past any embarrassment of close quarters." 

"I can assure you the rumors about the military are untrue." John said quipped before he realized what he had said. God what was that a joke even about? Lack of MOD funds for adequate bunks or homosexual sexual intercourse? "But yeah sure, if you don`t mind. I`ll just shower..."

By the time he was out the food had arrived, and they ate in relative silence both tired. John was finishing up putting left-overs together when he looked up at Sherlock who had seemed to have stopped eating. In fact, John realized, he had his eyes were nearly closed, the foil carton of chow-mien in one hand and fork in the other and his head was nodding down dangerously close to falling to sleep.

John caught the utensils before they could fall, taking them away from the other man. "Jesus just how much valium did you take? Bed time for you." He told him trying to guide his feet up and get him under the covers.

It seemed as soon as Sherlock`s head hit the pillow he was out for the count, and completely unhelpful trying to get him over to one side of the mattress.

The doctor rolled the unconscious man over a bit, pulling back the covers. He`d tried not to look as they ate, but now his doctor`s instinct took over and wrist in hand he turned the arm over to reveal Sherlock`s forearm the pale skin mottled with small bruises and pinpricks. He could see how heavily Sherlock had been using in the past few weeks, and he inspected the other arm which was in a similar state. There were a couple of nasty bruises, where Sherlock had been missing the damaged vein and had obviously been digging around for it.

"Oh Sherlock..." He said sadly to the sleeping man. At least he was safe tonight. After getting ready for bed he joined the other man under the blankets and he looked at Sherlock`s face half hidden by hair and blanket as he had curled himself up under the covers.

He studied Sherlock`s face in the dimness of night, and despite the dark circles under his eyes, finally seeing him fully relaxed, that computer he had for a brain finally in standby, he found Sherlock hauntingly beautiful.

Embarrassed the thought had crossed his mind he turned over so his back was to the taller man. Sherlock was slim, but curled up like that it was a tight squeeze for both of them. With the reassurance that Sherlock was finally safe, he closed his eyes to force himself to sleep.

 

John was back in Afghanistan, somewhere in the notorious Hellman province maybe. He`d been dispatched as a medic to an outpost who`s patrols had been ambushed by the Taliban and taken heavy casualties. When their helicopter arrived, there were several wounded waiting to be attended to. He was pulled over to one man, his leg quite clearly missing. Landmine. They`d tourniquet the leg. He started barking orders to push fluids and clotting agents as he opened his med-kit to find supplies to try and stop the hemorrhaging before the man bled out. 

"Incoming!!" He heard from behind him, and had half a second to straighten up, before somewhere behind him was a massive boom, spraying sand and rock over his back. He instinctively hunched over the wound to try and stop the grit and dust from covering it.

He braced himself for another impact when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked towards it but realized it wasn`t day time or the dessert any more, he was back in his room breathing heavily.

The man who had touched his shoulder was Sherlock, who was watching him next to him with those grey-blue eyes. "Afghanistan?" He asked with his deep baritone.

"Uh...yeah." John said embarrassed. "Sorry." He must have been moving or talking in his sleep. That wasn`t the worst of his dreams at least. 

Sherlock`s brow furrowed, like he was trying to work out a problem. "What do people usually do when they have nightmares?"

Sit awake holding their gun for the rest of the night? "Uh..." He tried to think of a more appropriate answer. Sherlock still had his hand on his shoulder, and John could have sworn there was something like concern in his eyes. Was Sherlock asking what he could do for him? What could Sherlock do? Give him a cuddle. "Nothing, they don`t do anything." 

"Mmm..." Sherlock gently murmured accepting the answer as if he didn`t know any better, and he was learning the expected response and withdrew his hand from John`s shoulder. 

The doctor checked the bedside clock, and realized crap he had to go to the surgery today.

He got up and started his morning routine with military precision. "I need to go to work, but you can stay. I`ll leave the key, just put it through the letter box when you go."

Pulling out some fresh clothes from the draw he looked back over to Sherlock, who was still lounging in the bed seemingly in no hurry to move. "Sherlock." He said seriously, "I`m not going to come back and find my flat cleared out or you`ve started a meth lab or something?"

"No..." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the suggestion.

"Right...being robbed by you once was bad enough." John said wondering just how he could even trust an addict. How many times had Harry made promises to him only to break within hours. "Well," He said as he buttoned his check shirt to the top. "Milk`s in the fridge if you want tea."

But Sherlock had already rolled over back to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock researches on John`s laptop and a visitor drops by.

John was more than a little worried through out the day, his mind kept returning to Sherlock. Had it really been a good idea to let him stay the night, let alone leave him unattended. You just couldn`t trust an addict ultimately, he knew from past experience.

More than a little apprehensive when he got home and slotted the key into his door, he was half expecting all the furniture to be gone. But he was surprised to see Sherlock still there at his desk, hunched over his lap top, fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced ease.

Sherlock didn`t even look up, he seemed to have made himself quite at home still in the sweats and t-shirt John had loaned him the previous night.

"Uh..." John announced his presence, and Sherlock didn`t even look up.

"My dry cleaning isn`t done so I thought I`d do some research." Sherlock said taking a sip from John`s RCM mug.

"I think you`re the only homeless person in London to have dry cleaning." John looked at his once pristine room, now newspapers and pieces of paper with spidery scrawlings littered the desk and floor. He came closer to the desk, to see the map of London Sherlock had shown him last night. pinned to the wall. Instead now there was transparency sheet over it, marking out different areas of London in colored pen with matching colored notes beside it. He lifted up the clear plastic to reveal another layer of notes in pencil. "Research?" He asked.

"Yes." Sherlock stopped his typing to point at the map. "I am mapping the pick pocketing rings and police activity, now compared one month ago."

"Oh?" John said he understood what it meant.

"There is a correspondence with the police targets." Sherlock picked up his cigarette box and pulled one out to light much to John`s distain. The skinny man had obviously been chain smoking all day, using a saucer as an ash tray. "And the murders."

This was all sounding rather conspiratory to John, and he would have thought this was a coke head fantasy had he not had that unnerving encounter with the man in the suit. Could you be paranoid if they were after you? "Are you saying the police are bumping off thieves?"

Sherlock took a drag on his cigarette. "I don`t know yet, need more data." He said eyeing John coldly. "But I discovered this happened before, in Birmingham. The weaker gangs were eliminated by a series of murders, inter-gang rivalries it was assumed, and only the few strongest gangs now operate there. I think the same is happening here." He placed the cigarette between his lips, shuffling through the scattered notes. "That can`t be a coincidence. I just can`t see the connection yet." He said around the cigarette. 

"Sherlock." John tried to stop him, "Uh, just why are you..." He gestured to all the research. "doing all this?"

The taller man stopped, taking the cigarette from his lips again to look at John from under his curly hair. "Lets just say I have clients."

Oh, the favors...John sighed, then he realized that Sherlock had been using his laptop. "Uh didn`t I have a password on that?"

"Guessed it." 

John squinted at the screen, a window to his email account was open. He closed the lid and took it away from Sherlock before the other man could resume using it. "You can make your own bloody hotmail account." 

Sherlock looked a bit put out, and took a last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the saucer. "I`ll be go then shall I."

"Uh no." John said a bit panicked, laptop still under his arm. "I mean, no rush just...would be nice if you respected people`s property..."

Sherlock frowned at John in confusion.

"Oh yeah, pick-pocket, never mind..." John said realizing Sherlock`s bounds of personal property were limited.

There was an awkward silence, and John sat down heavily on the unmade bed. Really the place looked like it had been hit by Hurricane Sherlock, he was resisting the urge to start trying to tidy. Really now he had Sherlock here, he was reluctant to kick him out not knowing if he`d have a bed for the night, and what danger he was involved in.

A slow tapping at the door made them both look towards it and then each other, Sherlock`s paranoia was catching John thought.

John went to answer it, Sherlock looking ready to fight. When he opened the door, he was shocked to see the man in the suit from a few weeks ago, and he was stunned into silence.

"Is Sherlock Holmes here." The man asked coolly.

John was nearly shoved out the way by the taller man. "Oh piss off will you Mycroft."

"Nice to see you too brother." The man said witheringly.

John looked between the two, trying to see a resemblance. "Brother?" 

"Yes my Brother, sticking his nose in where it does not belong as usual." Sherlock spat.

"Still on the drugs I see Sherlock. I just came to see how you were doing, most unusual for you to stay somewhere for longer than one night.

"I`m sorry, but he`s my brother? Not some criminal mastermind?" John interjected.

"Close enough." Sherlock said, keeping his eyes fixed on the man on the other side of the threshold.

"Really Sherlock, I have a minor post in the British Government..." Mycroft said derisively.

"Oh he IS the British Government. When you`re not being secret service, or freelance for the CIA, or whatever." Sherlock`s mouth hardened into a hard line with revulsion.

John`s head was starting to spin. "Wait," he tried to push through Sherlock, "So you really are concerned about him?"

"Of course." Mycroft said his eyes softening a bit. "Do you know how many times we sent him to Rehab. Never lasted long did it Sherlock, do you remember that nice place in Sweden we sent you." Mycroft shifted his attention back to John. "Two days before he escaped back on a fishing boat."

"Fat camp didn`t work for you either Mycroft."

Mycroft`s eyebrow twitched a bit. "You can imagine the Christmas dinner`s Dr. Watson, especially after Sherlock here stole the silver for a drugs binge."

"Just piss off Mycroft, and stop tying to check up on me." Sherlock ended the conversation by slamming the door in the older man`s face, and in a huff went to throw himself onto John`s bed.

It took John several minutes to recover. "So that was just your brother?" He asked.

"He`s a fat busy-body, always trying to shove me into some rehab clinic. With their nice little schedules and art therapy, sitting around with the other junkies as they sob about `where it all went wrong`." Sherlock said sarcastically. "I don`t want to stop drugs, do you know how boring it is sober. I can`t stand it."

John drew the chair up to the bed so he could sit and talk seriously. "But you know it could kill you one day."

"If I`m dead I won`t be bored." Sherlock said defensively, rolling over so his back was to John.

The way Sherlock said it so flippantly, really made John`s chest ache. "I don`t want you to die." He said quietly.

Sherlock rolled back a bit to look over his shoulder at the doctor. "Why?"

"Because you`re amazing." John said, but realized how gushing that sounded, "A git, but a clever one. Too clever to die in such a pointless way."

Sherlock`s eyes looked over John, trying to read the concern in the other man`s voice. "I`ll do what I want."

John sighed, "Yeah, that`s what Harry says too."

The other man huffed turning his back so John couldn`t see his face. "I`ll go."

"No no..." John said reaching over to touch Sherlock`s arm. "I mean, just rest here for a bit...do your research." Sherlock ignored him. "It`s fine." He tried to accept, really he`d rather Sherlock be safe for now, even if it meant dire consequences if anyone found out he was facilitating a drug addict. But if he pushed, Sherlock would push back, and see how well that had worked. If Sherlock was going to use drugs, he would rather minimize his risks. He just hoped that one day, Sherlock would realize he didn`t need them.

A pipe dream maybe, but to think of the alternative pained him.

Sherlock rolled over and sat up in one movement, his long legs either side of John`s knees, he leaned in closer to John, taking his face in hands.

Confused, John tried to pull back, but Sherlock closed the gap between them pressing their lips together. Surprised John didn`t react, until his eyes closed and he felt the soft lips on his own, moving slightly. It felt so nice, he wanted to do nothing but kiss back. But then he felt Sherlock`s tongue run against his lip trying to deepen the kiss.

That panicked him and he pulled back breaking their kiss, but Sherlock kept his face held with his long fingers. "What?" The doctor asked, hand going up to Sherlock`s trying to pull it off weakly.

"This is what you want right? So I can stay." Sherlock said seductively, but John could see his eyes dilated, this was just the impulsive risky behavior of a coke addict.

"No..." John said, then again more firmly. "No, I`m not gay." But the way Sherlock had kissed him, the way he wanted to just kiss back made him really doubt that. "I don`t want anything in return, you don`t need to do anything like that."

Sherlock didn`t look convinced, but he let his hands drop from John`s jaw.

The doctor swallowed, "It`s fine." He said, trying to forget what had happened. "It`s all fine."

"I see." Sherlock said leaving John to pick up the laptop, and go back to the desk to resume his research on the internet.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spider watches the fly in it`s web.

Detective Sergeant Moriarty was in the central CCTV surveillance room that was able to view any camera in Central London. There was a huge wall of monitors in front of him, and he was tracking the dip squad teams as they done their street level surveillance around London. He was glued to the screens, brown eyes flicking from one to another, taking the details in.

Now a few nights ago as he had been hacksawing off the hand of a Polish pickpocket, he had started screaming something through the gag, anything to stop the blades slow progression through the bone. He heard something like `information` and `consulting pick-pocket` which peaked Moriarty`s interest. He left the hacksaw blade jammed in the bone, and picked one of his bloody latex gloves off by the wrist to reach into his inside breast pocket. Moriarty withdrew a flick knife and swiftly put it under the duct tape gag and cut it off carelessly.

"What was that Borys, I couldn`t hear you." He asked.

"The Consulting pick-pocket, he tells us where the police are. Best pick pocket in London!" The man hyperventilated, eyes fixed on the blood pouring from his wrist to run down the chair arm and to add to the growing pool of blood soaking into the carpet.

"The best pick-pocket?" Now this was interesting. The man had started blubbering, and Moriarty grew inpatient. "You`ll have to hurry up if you want to save that hand."

The man nodded, "He tell us where the police are. He`s the best, but he don`t work for anyone. Never caught. We give him drugs and money, and..." He glanced down at his hand, and started sobbing again.

"Borys....concentrate." Moriarty warned darkly, his still latexed hand touched the hacksaw handle in warning.

"He tell us about the police, so we know where to go."

"Huh...." Moriarty mulled the information over. Borys` ring had been particularly evasive of their surveillance, "Borys that doesn`t mean you can stop talking."

"I-I..." The polish man stuttered. "Name is Sherlock, but no address, phone always changing. Tall, dark brown hair. I think he`s homeless, so he always watching the police...but I can arrange meeting! I`ll set up a meeting!" He tried desperately.

Moriarty considered this briefly, "Naaaah. Thanks Borys." Moriarty put his latex glove back on and re-ductaped the man`s mouth, more secure this time. "But nobody likes a snitch." Moriarty told him before going back to sawing.

But that little tit bit of information had intrigued him, that he spent half a day combing the files for a Sherlock, but nothing. Not even a name that resembled Sherlock in the records.

So now he had spent the past 3 days watching the CCTV cameras, looking for anyone around the undercover teams. People thought his method`s eccentric, but since he had come in to the team, the figures had spoke for themselves so he was left to follow up his leads on his own.

He watched the camera tailing DSs Donovan and Anderson as they patrolled up and down Oxford street. They were watching a suspicious group, but Moriarty wasn`t interested in them, they were too obvious, obvious enough for Donovan and Anderson to trail.

But a tall figure with his back to the camera caught his attention, he was leaning against one of the black railings near the pedestrian crossing. "Him." He told the operator at the camera controls. "I want to see his face, do we have another angle."

"Yeah..." The operator said, and the camera feed view changed to the opposite time. 

"Closer." Moriarty directed and the camera zoomed in. Dark hair, tall, not a tourist, but didn`t look homeless. At first look it seemed like he was just waiting for someone, but actually he was watching Donovan and Anderson, who were completely oblivious. Morons, Moriarty thought.

"Keep an eye on him." Moriarty told the operator, he checked the battery on his police radio on his belt hidden by his beige jacket. "If he moves radio me."

 

Sherlock watched the familiar pair of coppers, he had seen them several times around the place, always stalking for low level pick-pockets. Their sweep patterns had changed again, so Sherlock decided to tail them for a few hours, seeing if there was anything different in their strategies.

He had stayed at John`s for a few nights, before he needed to come out and score. The doctor seemed to tolerate his presence, and now Sherlock was working on this case for a few vested parties it was just convenient to keep all research at John`s. When he figured this out he`d go, but for now it was convenient.

The coke kept him alert, and he thought hard about Operation Spider-web as he watched the two talk in hushed tones.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a slight man beside him. "Are you looking for a good time?" The man asked suggestively.

Sherlock looked at him, noted the union jack LONDON cap, light jacket and jeans that screamed TOURIST.

"Soho`s that way." He waved the man off, irritated at having his chain of thought interrupted by someone trying to pick him up for a blow job in an alleyway.

The man just smiled not being put off, straight white teeth showing. "Or are you looking for someone`s wallet to pick-pocket."

That caught Sherlock`s attention, and he looked more closely at the man. No not a tourist, plain clothes detective, Sherlock kept his calm, and didn`t respond.

The man casually joined him on the railings. "Or are you looking at those two numptys, watching the thieving numptys."

Sherlock gave him his full attention, but he was more than a little surprised.

The DS could read it, "Oh yes Sherlock, I know about you. I`ve been watching you on the cameras. Watching you, watching them, watching the others, it`s getting all rather complicated isn`t it."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked lowly, this could be his connection. This man was police, but there was something very very off about him.

""Just want to say Hi." The police man said in a sing-song tone, "I`m DS Moriarty, I`m on the dip squad. But I`m not like them." He indicated Donovan and Anderson, who hadn`t even noticed him. "The little robo-cops, my god they arrest some low level dipper and you should hear them congratulate themselves, never mind they`re back out on the streets in 3 months. No immagination, they just don`t think big enough."

"And you`re different?" Sherlock asked, the throngs of people passing around them as they talked, in their own little word.

"Well, I don`t like to brag but..." Moriarty put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Things getting tough for your clients? You trying to give them a hand?" He asked chuckling to himself at the dark joke.

Sherlock`s eyes narrowed. Borys had been killed a few days ago. "What are you doing?"

"My job Sherlock, protecting the streets of London." Moriarty lied.

"No..." Sherlock read his body language. "You enjoy it."

"Nothing wrong with enjoying your work. Speaking of which, you not gonna do any lifting today, go on, give me a chance to arrest you." Moriarty egged him on. "Or do I just need to search you, see what goodies you`ve got in your pockets."

Sherlock`s body tensed, Borys had talked, he must have. This policeman knew too much, yet he hadn`t just arrested him.

"But what fun would that be, that`s just to easy to get you on a possession charge." Moriarty admitted, jumping up onto the railings, he wasn`t going to go chasing after Sherlock, he had no intention of arresting him really. "I`m actually really glad I found out about you, it just makes things so much more fun. Like I thought this was going to be boring, but now I know you`re around well, we can play this little game a bit longer."

"People are dying..." Sherlock said testing, it was a leap, he may be a copper but he seemed unbalanced enough to just be involved somehow in the murders.

Moriarty`s expression darkened. "That`s what people do, especially when they`re on the wrong side of the law. Criminals, homeless drug addicts...it`s a dangerous lifestyle." The subtle threat hung there out in the open.

Sherlock had enough data for now, and stepped away from the policeman intent to lose him in the crowds.

"Catch you later." Moriarty said back in his sing-song from the railing.

Sherlock turned to look back at him as he walked away. "No you won`t."

The game was on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty is soooo much fun to write, not sure what that says about me. I didn`t plan this to be a casefic when I started, but I guess it`s turned into a conspiracy fic.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock`s trying to gather evidence.

John was back from his surgery hours, and he wasn`t surprised to see Sherlock not there. The other man tended to come and go, sometimes not coming back for a few days even. But Sherlock would always leave his violin here, and so John felt confident he`d see him again. Well he hoped he would.

The wall where the map of London had been stuck, had slowly been covered in more and more pieces of paper, with pieces of thread pinned to them and connecting them to everything else in a web. He tried to read the notes, but it was all hard to decipher. Even the map had two more layers of transparencies covering it with more notes, so many notes that when you looked together it was just a mess of boundaries and notes overlapping.

If anyone found out that he had Sherlock staying with him, he knew they`d say he was crazy. That Sherlock would slit his throat in the night just to clear out his wallet for his next fix.

But John trusted Sherlock, they shared his small bed occasionally when Sherlock was exhausted and coming down. Twice John had woken up from his dreams of Afghanistan, with Sherlock`s thin arms around him. and trying not to wake the other man he`d slip his arms around the skinny frame, trying to chase the memories away with Sherlock`s shallow breathing on his neck. They never spoke about it.

The key to his room turning made John jump from his relaxed position on the bed, making him clutch the medical journal tightly.

The door was flung open, and there was Sherlock looking more wild eyed than usual.

"John." He said slamming the door behind him, slipping his coat off to fling carelessly on the floor. "I have a lead..." He started passing in front of his wall of notes and diagrams. "I was so close, but it was so incredulous even I did not make the imaginative leap."

John felt tired just watching the frantic pacing. "What lead?"

"The police." Sherlock laughed to himself, "Well, one police man. DS Moriarty. He`s behind this." He turned to John and said seriously, "He`s behind the murders."

John gave him a look. "You`re saying a policeman is torturing and killing pick-pockets."

"Yes!" Sherlock was pulling off print outs from the internet where he had stuck them on the wall and was shuffling through them. "I don`t know how directly, but he as much TOLD me."

John slowly stood and went to Sherlock, putting an arm gently on his wrist. "How much coke have you taken today?" He asked gently.

Sherlock looked annoyed to have the conversation diverted. "Not enough obviously or I wouldn`t have missed this for so long."

John put his fingers to Sherlock`s neck to feel the pulse racing there, before Sherlock pulled away. "Jesus Sherlock you`ve had enough, you`re about to have a heart attack!"

Sherlock turned away from John in annoyance. "Don`t dismiss me! He SPOKE to me, he as much as admitted his involvement! He`s insane, but I have no evidence..."

"Really you spoke to him?" John asked still doubtful.

"Yes! He found me, Borys who was killed this week was one of my clients. Borys must have talked, told him all he knew about me. Now this Moriarty is after me." Sherlock threw the print outs on the floor, deciding they were useless to him.

John wasn`t sure how to break this. "Are you sure this isn`t....a psychotic break?" Heavy use of cocaine had been known to bring on manic like condition similar to amphetamine psychosis, it brought on paranoia, aggression and hallucinations.

"John, I did not imagine this. I did not imagine him, I did not hallucinate his threat." Sherlock pointed to the maps. "I did NOT hallucinate 3 murders!" he shouted.

John looked from Sherlock to the maps, and the web of notes and newspaper cuttings detailing the murders. "I want to believe you..." he admitted.

"But you won`t believe a drug addict." Sherlock finished for him.

John sighed, "I believe you." He trusted Sherlock. "But no one else will." John said calmly.

"John I..." Sherlock`s brow screwed up and he looked away from the doctor`s gaze. "I can`t stop taking drugs, I`ve tried before and it felt like I was losing my mind...you can`t understand what that`s like, if I lose my mind I`ve got nothing."

That really hurt John deep down to hear Sherlock say that, because it felt like the other man was resigned to a life with drugs no matter the damage.

Sherlock looked back at his wall, eyes darting over it. "I just need evidence. I don`t know why Moriarty`s doing this, but I`m pretty sure it`s nothing to do with being public spirited."

John let Sherlock`s ramblings flow over him, and instead stepped closer to pull Sherlock into a hug. He felt the taller man`s heart thump quickly under his rib cage. He told himself he was just doing this to reassure himself Sherlock wasn`t about to keel over. But really it was because he was going to lose Sherlock one day.

Sherlock didn`t move from under him, but John felt him swallow. "Will you help me John?" He asked voice sounding like it was on the verge of cracking.

"Help you how?" John asked from under Sherlock`s chin.

"Help me catch the bent copper." 

"Of course...I`ll help you any way I can." John had to help protect Sherlock, real or imaginary threats it was of no matter. He`d protect Sherlock until the day he wanted get clean. He really hoped that day came in time too.

"Thank you John..." A hesitant arm came up around John, and they embraced awkwardly for a moment.

"Now." John cleared his throat, breaking their contact. "Tell me everything that happened."

 

Sherlock spent the next week trying to gather as much information about DS Jim Moriarty as possible, calling on every contact he had, including those in more official places.

In the meantime there had been another murder, and the pick-pocketing gangs of London were thinning out, and consolidating into larger groups. It was hard to keep track of, allegiances and loyalties dissolving and rebinding by the day.

He knew John was struggling to believe him, but once he had his proof he would be vindicated, to John and everyone who dismissed him as just another junkie.

Sherlock had been in contact with one of his clients, who seemed to be struggling with the recent turmoil. He wanted information, and Sherlock wanted a fix so he arranged to meet by the pond of St. James park.

It was nearing dusk, and there were few people in the park by now. He spotted the short man he was looking for, who looked more nervous than usual. Mind you everyone was nervous now in the pick-pocketing world, hand cutting and police raids.

"David." Sherlock greeted him, making his presence known. "My fee?"

The man nodded, pulling out a thick envelope. Sherlock checked inside, at 10 grams of coke and a few hundred pounds. He nodded satisfied, "Stay away from Piccadilly line tube stations in zone one, as well as over ground streets from Covent garden to Piccadilly circus, the police are sweeping there."

David grunted, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "And watch out for a copper, DS Jim Moriarty. He`s dirty, and dangerous." Sherlock warned him before turning on heel to walk away impatient to shoot up.

St. James park being next to Westminster, and Mycroft`s haunting grounds, Sherlock took a perverse pleasure from shooting up then and there. He sat in front of a bush next to the pond, the chill from the coming night putting off anyone else from sitting on the grass.

Pulling off one coat arm, he rolled his once expensive sleeve shirt up and pulled out his gear. He wrapped his bicep with the tourniquet, flexing his fingers to try and get a vein to come up. He wiped his spoon and forearm with an alcohol wipe, and dissolved about a quarter of a gram of coke in cold water. Cocaine was water soluble, and he wrinkled his nose at the impurities that settled on the bottom of the spoon. Fuck David, if he gave him shit like this again.

Impatiently tearing a fresh needle from it`s sterile pack, he drew back the clear fluid from the spoon trying to avoid the white sediment on the bottom. He heard people walking by on the other side of the bush, but he ignored them as he tried to feel around his bruised forearm for a vein.

He pressed down deeper, feeling for something usable. It would have to do. He pressed the tip of the needle into his skin, breathing heavily at the anticipation, wanting to chase away the anxiety and depression that was threatening to crash over him.

Sherlock drew back on the plunger, relieved some blood came back into the syringe showing he had managed to hit the vein first time. It was getting tougher now days.

With his teeth he pulled off the tourniquet, and pressed the plunger steadily, watching it all go into his body. He took out the needle and struggled to recap it, before dropping it onto the floor.

Sherlock closed his eyes waiting for the rush to hit him, it should take a few seconds. But he opened his eyes when it didn`t come, and he realized something was wrong. He felt sluggish, his body weighing 10 times as much.

He panicked but the more the drug took effect, the more he was unable to even support his own weight and he fell backwards, struggling for breath.

All he could see was the violet sky of dusk, contaminated with the orange light pollution of the city. He tried to move, but he just squirmed helplessly on the grass.

Soon a face came into his vision, and he thought for a moment someone had noticed him. He blinked hard trying to clear his vision, only to realize it was the smiling face of DS Moriarty.

The policeman tutted down at him. "Really now Sherlock, is that all it took? Some badly cut coke and you`re out the game?" Moriarty looked disappointed.

"Dying like an ordinary junkie on the grass." The policeman looked around. "All alone."

Moriarty sat down next to Sherlock, looking out over the large pond with it`s ducks and swans. "I thought we were going to play for longer. David there, he was only too ready to give you the bad coke in exchange for not..." He made sawing motions to his wrist. "Of course there will be a continued fee if he wants to keep making a living, if he pays well enough he could be one of the few rings I allow to operate in the London area."

Sherlock was struggling to stay awake, the edges of his vision were going dim."You..." He croaked out, it felt like he couldn`t get any air.

"Shuuush..." Moriarty leaned close to Sherlock, "It`s not going to be pleasant, you`re going to breath slower and slower, paralyzed, until you can`t breath any more. It`s going to be like suffocating, only slowly."

"Guess this was an inevitable end for you Sherlock." Moriarty got up, and left the other man helpless on the grass to die.

Sherlock struggled to breath, "John..." He whispered out, feeling his breath getting harder and harder.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out Sherlock has ODed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a mean cliffhanger, but I hope this chapter makes up for it!

The phone call John had been dreading arrived in the evening while working at the clinic with Molly. He was just clearing up, setting all the basic supplies away when his mobile rang from an unknown number. Since he was about finished, he took the call.

"Hello?" He asked.

"Dr. Watson." Came the silky voice that John instantly recognized as Mycroft. His stomach sank, this could not be good if Mycroft was calling.

"Yes..." He said, mouth suddenly dry as he turned his back to Molly.

"Sherlock has been admitted to South Westminster A&E for a suspected over dose. If he dies, call and I`ll make the necessary arrangements."

John was about to ask if Mycroft would be going himself, but the long tone indicated that Mycroft had already hung up. He stared at the phone in disbelief. He knew this day could come, he thought he had prepared himself. But now he knew he hadn`t.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he apologized to Molly, told her had a family emergency before putting his coat on and leaving. He couldn`t exactly tell them he was going to see Sherlock, he looked like a creep enough having Sherlock staying over with him.

Not thinking about the expense John flagged down a taxi, jumping in and telling him to go to the hospital. With the traffic the journey seemed to take forever, and he started to regret not getting the tube.

He rushed into A&E, asking the front desk for Sherlock Holmes, then there was an awkward situation where he had to explain he was not a relative, but a close friend sent in lieu of a relative. It would have been easier to just say he was his `partner`, but things were awkward enough as it was.

Finally a nurse came and showed him to the resuscitation rooms, where Sherlock was unconscious connected up to machines and drips. She said someone had found him in St. James, collapsed. They`d given him naloxone to reverse the opiates in his system, but fluids and oxygen was all they could do for the rest he had taken. They`d move him to a ward when they had a bed, she didn`t seem too happy to have valuable NHS resources taken up by a drug addict ODing.

When she left him, John went to the notes at the end of the bed, Sherlock had tested positive for a whole cocktail of drugs. "You stupid fucking..." John said angrily to the unconscious man, who looked paler and frailer than he`d ever seen.

He thought Sherlock was smarter than this, hell he had done everything he could to make sure Sherlock was safer. Then he had taken some kind of super-speedball, and they wouldn`t know if he was brain damaged until he woke up.

John put the chart away, and sat down by Sherlock`s bed. He should just cut his ties to Sherlock right now, to avoid the pain and disappointment a drug addict was no doubt to bring. How many times would he be by Sherlock`s bedside? Until the one day he didn`t wake up.

But he was unable to leave Sherlock, leave him alone in this sterile hospital ward.

John snaked his hand under the rail to grasp Sherlock`s hand, and watched the oxygen fog rhythmically with each slow breath.

 

Before Sherlock could open his eyes, he could hear the sounds and smells of a hospital ward. Oh so he was in hospital, again. It had been a while. He felt someone holding his hand, and he tried to think through his cloudy mind who it could be. 

Mycroft? No Mycroft hadn`t come to hospital after the 2nd time he`d ODed. Some nurse? Unlikely, they were too busy to do a bedside vigil for a junkie.

He tried to squeeze the hand, there was someone he hoped it would be. "John...." he said weakly, other hand trying to claw the mask on his face.

Someone stopped his hand from reaching for it. "Don`t move it."

Sherlock tried to open his eyes, and he was relieved to see John`s concerned face. He had been genuinely scared, he really thought Moriarty and the stars was going to be the last thing he saw.

"You pillock." John said in mocking, but the joke never reached his eyes.

"Mor....mori...." Sherlock croaked out, but it was muffled by the mask. He wanted the drips out and machines off, he didn`t want to be trapped here. He tried to reach for the cannula at the back of his other hand., the hand held by John`s.

"Sherlock, calm down. You ODed, but you`ll probably be fine once it`s out your system."

Sherlock realized John looked like he wanted to say more, wanted to chastise him. He`d seen that look on Mycroft`s face the second time he`d woken up in hospital after a seizure induced by a cocaine overdose. That was the last time he`d woken up with someone by his bed.

He gripped John`s hand tighter, he wanted to explain to him the danger, that Moriarty was after him. The paranoia and anxiety of his epic come down threatened to crush him, he felt helpless in the park, and he felt helpless now.

"Shussh..." John tried to quite him, and he reached up to stroke Sherlock`s alabaster cheek. "I`ll see if I can get you some temazepam for the withdrawal. I`ll stay with you, I promise." 

Sherlock felt exhausted already and slowly let his eyes slip shut.

 

It was early morning before they moved Sherlock up to a ward, they`d given him something to relax after he told them Sherlock would be going through cocaine withdrawal, and it sent him to sleep.

John didn`t bother going home, as soon as Sherlock was awake and responsive they`d send him on his way with leaflets for rehab options. Mostly for methadone though, and John hated that policy. The amount of addicts he saw through his surgery wanting their methadone prescription, but were still clearly using on top. They`d been on methadone for years, how on earth was it helping them come off drugs if they were just replacing smack with a prescription drug. But methadone was NHS policy, because it was cheaper than abstinence treatment programs. Laughable, when you considered the calmative costs of this `harm-reduction strategy` compared to cost-intensive abstinence treatment programs. The stats spoke for themselves, 40% of drug deaths in Glasgow were methadone related He`d been thinking about it a lot while looking at Sherlock, he doubted Sherlock would be willing to go cold turkey.

At least the ward was less busy, and he waited quietly by Sherlock`s bedside. His face was looking a better color now, and checking the readouts his stats were much better too.

They`d removed the oxygen when Sherlock opened his eyes again as he tried to stretch out his sore muscles. "I need a cigarette..." He said groggily, throat parched.

"That`s the last thing you need." John said sternly.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked, things would be hazy to say the least.

"You were found in St. James park, you`d taken some cocktail of coke, opiates and god knows what else. What were you thinking?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed from the bed. "Moriarty, he got to my supply, cut it with some shit."

John looked at Sherlock incredulously, "Are you serious?"

"No, I thought I`d OD in the park for a laugh." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"How do you know it was him?" John asked.

"He was there! He was gloating! He...got to my client, I don`t know, threatened him or something, switched my supply with some crap." Sherlock said knowing how crazy he sounded.

John took the accusation in, it would be easy to dismiss Sherlock as having just some drug fueled hallucination. But even on drugs, Sherlock was logical, and methodical and...John believed him.

"This is the police man?" The doctor asked, "Sherlock, you are fucked if you`ve got some dirty copper after you, you know the met look after their own." He said seriously. 

"Yes I know..." Sherlock said massaging the bridge of his nose. "I`m trying to think."

"Sherlock." John stood, and leaned over his bed. "You cannot think off your tits on coke all the time, look where it`s got you." To make his point he took Sherlock`s chin and forced him to look at him.

Sherlock`s hand fell down from his nose, to cup John`s hand against his face. "Thank you John, for coming." He wanted to admit how scared he`d been, but he couldn`t say it in words.

"I don`t want to do this again Sherlock. Please don`t do this to me again." John pleaded. his face was so close to Sherlock`s and they were searching each other`s eyes for answers.

God John wanted to just kiss him, as if that would convince Sherlock to get clean. But if Sherlock got clean what use would he have of John then, John was just his enabler, his...

Sherlock stopped his train of thought right there, by closing the small gap between them to press their lips together with a gentleness that John didn`t even know the other man was capable of. He was sure his own cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and school boy excitement.

They broke away slightly. "Ok John." Sherlock murmured against his lips.

"Ok what?" John said quietly, not wanting to pull away, wishing this moment would go on forever.

"Ok I`ll get sober and catch this son of a bitch." Sherlock`s hand let go of John`s and he started to fidget on the hospital bed, trying to untangle himself from the drip and monitors. "Now get me my clothes and discharge papers."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock find new lodgings.

If John thought Sherlock was cantankerous and irritable before, it was nothing compared to Sherlock sober and itching for a fix of coke. The first day he had torn down most of his notes, muttering angrily to himself. By the end of the day he`d be chewing valium like smarties until he passed out at the desk, leaving John to attempt to drag him onto bed.

Nether of them had said anything about the kiss in the hospital, Sherlock was otherwise preoccupied and John was starting to think he`d been mistaken. Sherlock had just had a near death experience, it probably didn`t mean what he hoped it was.

Sherlock had mercifully passed out on top of the bed sheets that night, and John tried to keep not touch the other man as he tried to sleep beside him. But seeing him peaceful, and knowing how hard he was resisting going back onto drugs, it made his respect bloom for Sherlock.

Guiltily he slipped his arm around Sherlock`s shoulder`s, determined to keep him safe from corrupt police, drug dealers and the lure of illicit substances.

It was a Saturday and he was hoping to sleep in, but the violin being played in his small flat. It wasn`t the worst way to be woken up, but it wasn`t possible to sleep through. He thought he could try, burying his head under the pillow.

The tune increased it`s tempo, sounding almost impatient. "What is it Sherlock?" John asked sleepily.

Sherlock stopped playing. "Ah, you`re awake." Great deduction there, John thought, as he sat up scrubbing his face. When he opened his eyes, there was a mug of black coffee being held in front of him.

This was a first. "Thank you..." John said a bit stunned as he carefully took the cup. Sherlock was immaculately dressed and looked chipper this morning, John was slightly suspicious of that smile.

"I`ve been thinking, it`s best to move out." Sherlock said.

"Oh..." John said, kind of trapped in bed with the steaming coffee. He supposed this was inevitable, it wasn`t a practical thing for them both to live in his bedsit. He just didn`t think it would be happening so soon.

"Yes, I know of lodgings in Baker Street, good location and price." 

"Great..." John said taking a tentative sip of his coffee, feigning indifference.

"I`ve texted the landlady, together we can afford the rent and we can move in today." Sherlock informed him, and John noticed the map of London had been taken down.

"Together?" John asked, the coffee forgotten.

Sherlock made a face, "No offence John but this bedsit isn`t much better than the hostel. I can`t be expected to conduct my investigation from here." 

John was about to protest, but on second thoughts he couldn`t argue with that. "I suppose I could go see it..."

"Excellent." Sherlock seemed pleased, with himself mostly. "Get dressed, I`m packed."

 

Sherlock practically bundled John out and into a cab, he was obviously in no mood to wait. During their journey they both looked out the window but John kept stealing glances. Some of Sherlock`s cheer had fallen, which seemed to confirm his suspicions it was false to make him more agreeable to viewing the new flat. Now outside, Sherlock`s eyes flickered around the scenery scrolling past, lost deep in thought and the slight furrow of his brow betrayed his anxieties.

"How are you feeling today?" John asked.

"Oh..." Sherlock glanced at him briefly his deep thinking obviously interrupted. "Fine."

Everything was always fine with Sherlock. "Any depression, paranoia..."

Sherlock cut him off before he could finish. "No."

There was a tense silence between them, before John told him, "You`re doing really well you know...I`m proud of you."

Sherlock looked at him his gloved hand covering his mouth, trying to decide whether John was being patronizing or not. Thankfully Sherlock seemed to recognize where they were and he leaned forward to tell the driver to pull over.

An elderly woman was waiting outside a sandwich shop, and she rushed over to greet the taller man. John was surprised to see Sherlock reciprocate warmly, like they were old friends.

"Dr. Watson this is Mrs. Hudson the landlady." He introduced them, but he seemed to be in a hurry to be off the streets.

"So nice to see you again dear." She cooed, "It`s all as you left it, your brother said you were traveling."

Sherlock`s eyes narrowed briefly at the mention of his brother. "Yes, traveling. I will be taking over the rent from now Mrs. Hudson. Then he was all back to smiles to usher the older lady to the front door of 221B.

John was trying to process what exactly the situation was between the two, when he was lead up the stairs to an old Victorian flat. The landing opened out to the living room, which was covered in white sheets.

Sherlock began removing the dust sheets, revealing furniture covered with boxes and clutter. "I guess I`ll take it. Cup of tea if you wouldn`t mind."

The small woman looked a bit annoyed, "Just this once, I`m not your housekeeper." She said, and smiled at John. "There`s a bedroom upstairs if you`ll be needing it."

"Of course I`ll be needing it, why wouldn`t I..." John said without thinking but he did notice the flash of disappointment on Sherlock`s face.

"Don`t worry dear, we get all sort`s round here. Next door`s got married ones." Mrs. Hudson said, going down the stairs to leave them.

Sherlock had pulled away most of the sheets by now, filling the air with clouds of dust. He`d messily dumped the sheets on the floor though, and was going through boxes.

John cleared his throat, "Sherlock, does this mean you`ve had a pretty nice flat sitting here empty for the 3 years you`ve lived homeless."

Sherlock stopped his rummaging as he seemed to think about the question. "Yes." He replied before taking out some sort of chemistry equipment and inspecting it. "I guess Mycroft has been paying the rent after I didn`t return from his last attempt to keep me in rehab.

John sat down on the chair. "Why wouldn`t you live here though?"

Sherlock stopped his excavating to answer John seriously. "I didn`t want Mycroft interfering in my life." He removed his scarf and coat, taking the chair opposite John, but he avoided eye contact. "There was no need to keep up a pretence of normality living on the streets, you`re just forgotten once you`re out there. I didn`t miss the creature comforts, it was so much easier to be focused on drugs." He tried to explain to John, but he didn`t seem to hold much hope of making John understand.

Maybe John couldn`t understand the attraction of that lifestyle, but more importantly: "What about now? Do you still want to be forgotten?"

Sherlock finally looked up at John, their eyes finally meeting. "No." He suddenly stood in another nervous burst of energy, going back to rummage through his belongings. "Now I have a case John, the case of the psychopathic met officer." He said breezily.

John looked around the new flat, "Can`t say I`m complaining, near impossible to afford something near the tube station these days." Just then Mrs. Hudson came back in with tea and biscuits, it was like home already.

 

Sherlock spent the rest of the day supposedly reorganizing (it just seemed to look messier to John) and restarting his investigation. The map of London was back on the wall, and Sherlock had taken receipt of a new laptop (John didn`t ask where the money came from).

John watched TV as Sherlock worked behind him, he doubted he`d be finished any time soon. "Well I`m going to bed." He announced, turning the TV off and getting no reaction.

He went to the bottom of the stair`s, and just as his foot touched the first one he heard a voice behind him. "Are you sleeping upstairs?"

John turned, to see Sherlock focused on him now, his gaze almost overwhelming. "Uh, yeah..." He stuttered out. He could have just turned and continued to the upstairs room, but instead he waited for Sherlock to say something.

The other man seemed to be troubled, as if he wasn`t sure what to say. The moment stretched on. "Stay." Sherlock said breaking the silence. "Stay with me."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First night in 221B Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story officially moves into EXPLICIT! If you don`t want to read then skip the 2nd half of the chapter. But I imagine you do?

John was pinned to the spot, "Stay...and do what?" He needed clarification on this, it was driving him crazy.

Sherlock frowned in disgust, "I don`t know, this is..." The usually eloquent man looked frustrated as words failed him, "...not my area." He tried to hide his embarrassment with a display of irritation, dropping a pile of books onto the floor with a thump. "Just forget it." The taller man said going back to the laptop, the blue glare highlighting his face eerily in the softly lit living room.

"I can`t Sherlock." John said going over to stand by the dark haired man sitting at the table. "I feel like a bad person, I feel like I`m taking advantage of you."

Sherlock snorted, he hadn`t looked up from the laptop but he was only pretending to be more interested in the laptop.

"I`m serious Sherlock." John said, "You`re not feeling yourself right now, if I tried anything then..."

"Don`t belittle me like that." Sherlock snapped, and stood so he was looking down on John, their chests mere centimeters.

"Then just tell me what you want from me, so I know this is not some gross misunderstanding." John said, not giving in to Sherlock`s attempts of intimidation.

Sherlock seemed to flounder for words, obviously a bit flustered. In the end he gave up trying to speak, and decided to just show John by bending down so their lips met in a soft kiss.

John thought his heart had stopped, and as soon as he felt Sherlock`s lips moving slowly, he melted into the kiss letting his arms go around that slim masculine waist. He deepened the kiss slowly, and even the taste of tea and cigarettes was in-toxifying. When Sherlock reciprocated, his hands trailing up the doctor`s back slowly to entangle in the sandy strands at the back of John`s head, bringing with them a electrifying tingling sensation with the movement.

Sherlock seemed so shy with the intimacy, which seemed so alien considering how brazen he was usually.

Their slow kiss broke but they stayed holding each other, close enough for noses to touch. Sounding more husky than usual Sherlock said, "You`re my best friend, and I want..." The word lovers seemed alien and ill-fitting for what Sherlock was trying to express, it was a word loaded with sentiment. "I`ve always been able to divorce myself from my feelings...but I like waking up with you." 

"I can do that..." John said his soft doctor`s hand coming up to stroke Sherlock`s face. "If you do the same."

The flush on Sherlock`s cheeks deepened slightly, "When I said this wasn`t my area..." He cleared his throat, "I meant I`ve...never..."

John found the taller man`s embarrassment endearing. "You mean...sex?"

Sherlock`s lips twitched. "Define sex."

"Uhhh sexual intercourse, oral, virginally or anally." John said in his professional voice.

Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable. "Oral but...." He trailed off.

John finished for him, "Coke binge?" Sherlock nodded, but avoided eye contact still. "...for money?"

"A couple of times..." Sherlock said his lips returning to a hard line. He was waiting to be chastised by John.

"Do you not want to do any of that?" John asked instead, he tried not to imagine a strung out Sherlock, going down on men in alleyways.

"I didn`t enjoy it." Sherlock admitted, "But the circumstances are now different so I don`t know... I like waking up with you holding me." The taller man`s nose wrinkled when he realized how sappy he sounded.

"I can do that at least." John said, giving Sherlock a smile and quick peck on the lips. "I done some crazy things in med school." He told Sherlock, he wasn`t exactly a choir boy. "But I`ve not exactly had a boyfriend before either."

"Boyfriend..." Sherlock frowned as he tested out the word on his tongue. It was a whole new world of feelings and relationships he`d never given any weight to before.

"Partner, or whatever you want, there`s no pressure." John had to admit he felt too old to be a boyfriend. He broke away. "Well, I`ll be in the bottom bedroom. Goodnight." He gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, which felt silly and right at the same time and left Sherlock in the living room to get ready for bed.

 

 

John laid in bed, trying not to over think the conversation he`d had with Sherlock. Instead he thought about the feel of Sherlock`s lips and body against his. It done things to him, it was all very well being noble, but now here alone the sexual frustration was killing him.

He heard Sherlock play the violin, he was obviously thinking, so he kind of gave up on the hope that Sherlock would hop into bed with him for some sexual experimentation.

John rolled over wondering if he should take some valium, or masturbate, either one might help him sleep. He half dozed trying to relax to the soft sounds of the violin coming from the other room.

He hadn`t realized the music had stopped when the door open, and in a few moments he felt the bed depress behind him. The past month of sharing a single with Sherlock made this feel luxuriant, if not a bit lonely.

Rolling back towards Sherlock, he wordlessly took the skinny man into his arms. If Sherlock wanted to be held, he could do that, preying his body didn`t betray him, the other man was just in his briefs and he could feel the soft skin under his arms.

He was thinking how nice Sherlock smelt, when he felt Sherlock`s lips on his, in a more hungry kiss than before. That shook him from his slumber, and woke up other parts of his body. It was so not fair, Sherlock must know what this was going to do to him.

Sherlock opened his mouth, and greedily explored John`s with his tongue. With either nerves or experience their teeth clashed, but they both ignored it, hands starting to run over each other`s bodies with their hands.

When Sherlock`s large hand came into contact with his semi-erect penis, it made him moan deeply into the kiss.

The other man broke away, looking seriously into John`s eyes before disappearing down his body.

John breathed heavily as he felt his underwear being stripped, and Sherlock touch the turgid flesh before hands were replaced with a warm wet mouth.

"Sherlock..." He groaned, hands going to weave into the black curls. Any thoughts of `taking things slow` were long forgotten, and he just let Sherlock take control of him, working him quickly into a full erection.

The other man teased and sucked him, not an expert but it didn`t take long for John to feel his orgasm building. "God...Sherlock I`m going to..." He tried to warn the other man between his legs, hands going to his shoulders.

Sherlock just took him in deeper, and John couldn`t hold himself back. "Fuck..." He came hard into Sherlock`s mouth, who swallowed it, and lapped the last few dribbles.

John was out of breath, and he hadn`t really done anything. "Sorry..." He said slightly dizzy, and he felt Sherlock move back beside him. "I can, just...give me a moment..." To recover from that mind blowing orgasm.

"It`s ok." Sherlock said sitting up, and he heard the man lighting a cigarette. They were going to have to talk about smoking in bed...but not right now. "It was an experiment." He said around his cigarette, before taking a deep drag.

"Experiment?" John asked raising his eyebrows. "Experiment about what?"

"I wanted to know if it felt different." The cigarette tip glowed cherry red in the darkness.

John heart sunk a bit, "And...?"

"It felt different." Sherlock replied, John couldn`t see in the darkness, but he was sure there was smirk. "I will need to repeat though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! That was a long time coming, all that because I wanted the relationship to be believable.
> 
> What`s my play list when I`m writing? Well so far it`s been Matt Berry - Opium.  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjVw8wg4J5o  
> In fact the whole album`s great for those strung out late summer days.
> 
> But this chapter I changed to something a bit more upbeat, Brous - Streamers.  
> http://youtu.be/wlAsAWgZ_Tw
> 
> Thanks for reading and special thanks to the commenters, you make it possible to do daily updates.
> 
> I have started a fanfic tumblr, so you can see where I am in my writing progress if you are so inclined:  
> http://vulgarshudderfic.tumblr.com/


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwelcome visitor to 221B.

Sherlock was alone in the Baker street flat, violin resting on his shoulder and he stared at the wall with his flow diagram of the dip squad, bow idle in his other hand . He stared at the name DI Lestrad at the top, flowing down to a level of sergeants. Below them were constables, but they were insignificant.

He`d discovered DS Moriarty had transferred in two months ago, just before the murders began. He slotted his name somewhere between the sergeants and Lestrad, and he wondered just how much influence he had over his DI, how much he was involved. He needed more information, more data, he needed to get closer.

Sherlock heard the door open, and he wondered if it was John. John would be a distraction, not good for thinking but a wonderful distraction none the less.

But as he heard to footsteps on the stairs, he realized it wasn`t John, footsteps too heavy and slow for Mrs Hudson. It could be only one person. He made a mental note to get the locks changed.

With a look of disgust, Sherlock resettled his chin on the rest, and started playing Novacek's Perpetuum Mobile, a fast frantic piece that threatened to sound like noise with it`s pace to express his displeasure at the visitor..

He ignored Mycroft as he entered, and slowly sat down in the chair opposite him, the same chair John sat in when he came home from work, and would sit eyes closed listening to him play. John liked slower harmonious pieces, Chopin, and Sherlock would indulge him. John yet again distracting him, from the fat smug prick in front of him.

His eyes were closed as his fingers moved over the board, muscle memory pressing down on the strings. He hadn`t looked at Mycroft, but he knew the smug smirk he`d have.

He finished the piece, and could no longer delay the inevitable. The last note still vibrating off the string as he took the bow away, he opened his eyes to Mycroft. "What is it?"

Mycroft had his legs crossed, hand on the handle of his umbrella, jacket buttons undone."I am glad to see you managed to keep the violin, I still remember the Christmas Mummy gave it to you." Chit-chat about childhood memories was not answering his question, and Sherlock ignored it waiting. Mycroft sighed softly at his brother`s hostility. "I thought congratulations were in order." 

"Not from you." Sherlock said with a barely restrained snarl.

Mycroft was infuriatingly calm. "What is it, one week sober? I believe that is a record?"

"Two weeks." Sherlock corrected. 

Mycroft put on that saccharin smile, "Does that deserve a chip of some sort?"

"I believe one month is of significance. But really Mycroft, you were getting desperate with the NA meetings. Submitting to a higher power and all that toddle."

"I know, Sherlock Holmes only believes in the higher power of himself. We had exhausted the more exclusive rehab programs at that point. Did you ever make the 24 hour chip?" Mycroft asked.

"No, just a draw of welcome chips and key chains. Did you ever get 24 hours for Overeaters Anonymous?" Sherlock rested the violin on his lap, and started to rosin his bow.

Mycroft`s smile fell, the curl of his top lip betraying his annoyance. "So I was wondering what prompted this unprecedented run of sobriety? Overdosing was never a life changing event before." The older man`s shifted around the room, already deducing his own answers. 

Sherlock ignored the question, he`d never give Mycroft the satisfaction of confirmation. "Yes your concern for my near death was overwhelming." He said sarcasm dripping.

"I sent the dear Dr. Watson didn`t I." Mycroft`s smirk returned. "Although I did underestimate his positive influence on you." He seemed so pleased with himself, and he took in John`s empty coffee mug and plate still scattered with toast crumbs and a spot of jam from the hurried breakfast this morning.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, keep out keep out keep out of my life his mind screamed, but he schooled his face in mild irritation. "As always getting someone else to do the leg work."

Mycroft laughed, showing his whitened teeth. "Sherlock, I am genuinely happy for you, domestic bliss suits you. You`ve gained almost 4lbs, it`s the healthiest you`ve looked in years." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Mycroft ignored him. "Maybe next you can go into a more legitimate line of work." Sherlock followed Mycroft`s line of sight to his wall with the map of London, the growing notes about the police and gangs, let him think what he will. It did cross his mind that was entirely possible to ask Mycroft for help getting Met personnel files, but with Mycroft favors always came with strings attached. Entirely unnecessary really, he could do this himself. "You can always work for me little brother."

Sherlock snorted. "Really Mycroft, if I had to work for you I`d be back on smack within hours." He wondered how long Mycroft was going to subject to him to his company.

Mycroft didn`t look in any hurry to leave as he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. As if on cue, Sherlock heard the front door open. Oh of course, that`s what Mycroft was waiting for.

John`s now familiar steps bounded up the stairs, no trace of the limp that had made him the easy pick-pocketing target when they`d first met. "Sherlock I..." came the voice before the doctor came in and saw Mycroft sitting in his chair. "Oh..." He said in surprise.

"Mycroft was just leaving." Sherlock told him, putting his violin back to his shoulder in threat.

His older brother chuckled to himself in amusement, and stood pulling on the bottom of his waist coat to straighten it. "Good afternoon Dr. Watson. Do forgive me for neglecting to bring a house warming gift." He looked pointedly between the two.

"Go." Sherlock stood directly behind Mycoft giving his hip a hard shove with his the hand holding the bow in the direction of the door, before he replaced it on the strings started running the bow along the strings in a series of random notes that sounded akin to screeching cats. Although he was behind Mycroft, he knew the look of exasperation he`d have.

"Good day Dr. Watson." Mycroft dipped his head slightly to the doctor, and Sherlock followed him out with the noise, only stopping to slam the door behind his brother. Super effective.

"Why was he here?" John asked.

"Doesn`t matter." Sherlock said setting the violin and bow down on the table. Despite himself he was pleased to see John, and he greeted him by pressing their bodies together, a slightly seductive smile playing on his lips. He wondered whether it was possible he`d merely transferred his addiction from coke to John.

John didn`t seem to mind, but he was trying not to let himself get off track. "Did you ask him about Moriarty? He works for the government right?"

Sherlock chuckled, "No need." He parted from John to take a few steps back to the chair Mycroft had been sitting, and reached into the empty coffee mug. He pulled out a plastic card, and held it out smugly.

John squinted at it. It was an ID card for one Mycroft Holmes. "What...he just dropped that?"

"Don`t be stupid John, I dipped it from his Jacket pocket when he was leaving." Sherlock tossed his prize up in the air.

John ignored the `stupid`, comment. "But...you were holding your violin, how could you possibly..."

Sherlock mimed holding the bow with his first two fingers and thumb . "I done it with my ring and little finger when I pushed him. Knew he`d have it in his jacket pocket, fat arse is too lazy to keep it anywhere else, easiest access for when he`s entering his office building. Then dropped it in the mug before driving him out.. Really John you see but you do not observe."

Insults aside, John grinned and closed the gap between them. "You`re amazing. Ethically questionable but amazing."

"I don`t think you mind that do you John..." Sherlock flirted, almost purring with the flattery. 

"Seems not." John said before giving Sherlock`s full lips a kiss. He could almost forget coke with the smaller man, the nagging need faded with John distracting him like this.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John start investigating the web.

Sherlock smoothed Brylcreem through his hair, plastering his curls down with the sticky gunk. Today his usual tailored suits would not be appropriate, so he wore a cheap ill fitting grey one. It bagged around his waist, and he wore an appropriately boring blue tie and white shirt. Going through his wardrobe he looked for something to complete his disguise. He found a pair of frameless plano glasses, and slid them on.

He checked his appearance in the bedroom mirror, he looked non-descript and boring. Perfect for a civil servant.

"Jawn!" He bellowed, already going through the side of the wardrobe that his flat-mates clothes inhabited. He found John`s only suit, and inspected it on the hanger. It was un-stylish enough, John never wore it, probably reserved for weddings and funerals. It would do and he threw it on the bed, before rummaging around for suitable shirt and tie.

John came into the bedroom, and his eyes went wide at the stranger that now stood in his bedroom when he was sure it was Sherlock that had entered. "...Sherlock?" He asked cautiously.

"We are going out. Put this on." He tossed a light blue shirt and brown tie on top of the dark grey suit.

"I need to wear a suit?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said not bothering to elaborate.

Unquestioningly John started stripping his normal jeans and plaid shirt. "Why are you dressed like that?" He came close enough to sniff Sherlock`s hair. "Is that Brylcreem? My Granddad used to wear that."

"I needed a change." Sherlock told him, crossing his arms impatiently in front of him waiting for John to finish putting on the suit.

John knew Sherlock was up to something, he doubted very much it was a romantic lunch planned. But as usual he just kind of....went with the flow with Sherlock. He fumbled with the polyester tie, and unable to watch any longer Sherlock batted his hands away from it to tie it himself. The taller man stepped away to inspect his handiwork. "Acceptable." He decided.

"Thanks...." John said just the tiniest bit put out.

"Come John." Sherlock commanded, and the shorter man struggled to put on some dress shoes and follow the same time.

"Sher-" He protested, but the other man had bounded down the stairs already two at a time. By the time John had made it out the flat, Sherlock had already hailed a cab and was ducking into the back of it.

John tripped over as he bundled into the back too, a polar opposite of Sherlock`s graceful ease. He`d missed Sherlock telling the driver their destination, so he still had no clue where they were going.

"Are you going to tell me what`s going on?" The doctor asked.

Sherlock was looking out the window, at the shops and buildings going by. "Probably best I don`t." He admitted.

"I don`t like when you do that, it usually means trouble." John said.

"Oh come now John, you like trouble." Sherlock turned to direct a slightly steamy gaze at the doctor. John liked him after all, and since childhood people had told Sherlock he was nothing but trouble, Mycroft especially.

John cleared his throat under that heated look, he couldn`t deny it. He tore his eyes away from Sherlock to look out his side of the window, trying to work out where they were going.

They headed towards Westminster, and eventually stopped at the tall tower which always had at least one or two news crews stationed outside trying to get the distinctive sign into shot. "You have got to be kidding."

Sherlock tossed him a smirk. "Just follow my lead John." He said paying the driver and exiting the taxi and heading up the steps, passing the sign that said NEW SCOTLAND YARD. For the millionth time John thought Sherlock was insane, but none the less followed after Sherlock`s long strides.

As soon as Sherlock passed through the entrance, his entire posture and demeanor changed. He took on a slouch, and when he reached the reception desk there was something almost weaselly about him. 

Sherlock pushed the glasses up his nose, looking at the receptionist. "Um..." He said sounding apologetic. "I`m here about the spot report on Operation Spider-web." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the plastic ID card. "Mycroft Holmes, here on behalf of the Home Secretary."

The young woman looked from the small picture on the card to Sherlock, her eyes widened slightly in alarm when she read the SECURITY CLEARENCE: ULTRA. on it, and then looked to John standing behind Sherlock. 

Sherlock made a point of following her gaze. "Oh! Yes this is Sr. John Watson, professor of statistics at Imperial. He is consulting on the report." John realized he should give some reaction, and just nodded. "DI Lestrade is expecting us." Sherlock finished.

She nodded silently, and picked up the phone as she dialed an extension number. "Mycroft Holmes is here to see you, from the home office..." Her eyes flicked up to Sherlock as she listened to the reply. "There has been no appointment made."

"What? Really?" Sherlock made a show at being flustered, scratching his head. "Well does he have a little time, we just need a quick look around...nothing formal, but the home secretary really wants to know how things are going, before the Jubilee and all..."

The woman looked uncomfortable, and spun around in her chair to face away from the two visitors, lowering her voice on the phone. She turned back and replaced the phone. "DI Lestrade can see you. 11th Floor."

Sherlock gave her a relieved smile, "Thank you." He said and headed towards the elevators with John in tow.

As soon as the doors shut on them in the empty lift, John broke his cover. "Oh my god Sherlock you`ve just blagged us into New Scotland Yard."

Sherlock`s shoulders straightened from his meager civil servant guise. "I know." He said coolly.

"Isn`t this where the psychopath works though? What if we meet him??" John asked.

Sherlock seemed to consider that, "Should have brought your gun then."

"How..." John began but was cut off mid-sentence.

"Safety deposit box behind your dress uniform, wardrobe bottom right. Picked the lock ages ago. Really John you shouldn`t leave things like that lying around." Sherlock chastised lightly.

"We will talk about this later." John glanced at the digital numbers steadily rising nearing 11. "Meanwhile we`re about to go and have a nice chit-chat with some police man about crime rates!"

"Don`t worry so much." Sherlock told him, and the elevator dinged as they reached their floor. "I need to get access to his computer." He added before the doors opened.

Waiting at the elevator was a man in plain clothes and a bowl cut reminiscent of the mid 90s. "Mycroft Holmes?" He asked.

Sherlock had resumed his slack posture, and his voice had a nasally tone to it. "Yes. DI Lestrade?" He asked although John clearly remembered the DI Sherlock had picked was grey and older, this man did seem familiar though.

"No, DS Anderson." He introduced himself, he didn`t seem happy to have them their. "This way." He indicated the corridor to the left, New Scotland Yard was a depressing and grey government building, with the occasional pot plant or crime-prevention poster on the dry wall. They were lead past open plan offices, which buzzed with activity of busy police officers working to keep the streets of London safe. "We weren`t informed of this visit."

"Just routine..." Sherlock said dryly, he wasn`t interested in talking to the monkey on the way to the organ grinder.

They came to a private office, with DI Lestrade engraved into the silver plaque. They were shown in, and the older man John had been expecting stood to greet them. A coffee mug and half eaten muffin had been pushed to the side of the desk, seems like they`d interrupted his coffee break.

The DI reached out to shake Sherlock`s hand, "Mycroft Holmes?" 

"Home office." 

Then he took John`s hand, and shook it too, a blokeish firm shake John noted.

"Dr. John Watson." He told the police inspector.

"Oh." Lestrade looked between the two. "So...what is this about exactly?"

Sherlock looked from behind his glasses to the chairs in front of the DI`s desk. "May we?"

"Of course...uh coffee? Tea?" The DI offered.

"No we`re fine thank you." Sherlock said sitting down, wanting to get down to business. "Now DI Lestrade, we`re just here to see how things are going with Operation Spider-web. Old Teresa has people breathing down her neck." Sherlock explained. "No need to be alarmed, your stats of late have improved significantly. Pick-pocketing down by, what was it, 22% over the past 3 month period?"

"23..." The DI corrected, listening carefully. If he was nervous he didn`t betray it.

"Yes, 23%." Sherlock flashed a smile, that was unnerving to John. "How did you do it?"

"Good team." Lestrade said poker faced.

"Really?" Sherlock asked. "And the murders are unrelated?" Still smiling as he probed 

Now that obviously put Lestrade on guard, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Inter-gang rivalry jostling for power in the run up to the jubilee and Olympics." He said it like it was a well said official line.

"Nothing like a serial killer then? Because that`s the last thing London needs this year." Sherlock pressed the police officer. John thought Sherlock was playing the meddling bureaucrat to a T.

"While the crimes share a similar MO, the only connection is Organized Crime. And you should be talking to Murder or OC, because quite frankly this is not our division."

Sherlock nodded in understanding. "Quite. I`ll look into that for the Home Secretary. But still congratulations on the figures." He clapped his hands together. "Now the nitty gritty number crunching, mind if I have a look at some reports more closely?"

Lestrade didn`t hide his displeasure much as he reached under his desk for a stack of papers and dropped them down on the desk in front of Sherlock, paperwork seemed to be the bane of his life more than criminals. 

Sherlock gave him a smile, as he turned over the first leaf of paper, he then made a play of looking at John sitting beside him. "Oh yes Dr. Watson here doesn`t get out of the office much, I`m sure he`d benefit from a tour of the department, see the faces behind the numbers he`s always making into nice little graphs."

John caught Sherlock`s look, and hastily added. "Oh yes, I`d love to."

"Sure..." Lestrade said reluctantly standing, and gestured John towards the door.

"Take your time, I`ll be a while" Sherlock called after them and watched them as they left the office, his smile instantly fell from his face as the door closed. He got up and moved around the desk, turning the chair around to face the computer screen against the window.

He clicked the mouse, revealing the network login. He glanced around the office, picking up on the personal effects of the DI. His eyes settled on the coffee mug, white and red. Personal coffee mug for the office, probably came with an Easter egg as a gift. An Arsenal mug.

It wasn`t going to be this easy was it? He thought about the impression he`d already formed about the police officer and decided that yes, it really could be that easy.

Sherlock typed in `arsenaltillidie` and hit return. The computer logged into the Met`s network. Football supporters were so predictable with their passwords.  
He pulled out a memory stick and slotted it into the USB port, and quickly started going through the shared network drive, copying the files of interest to him.

He was waiting for the files on the murders to finish copying when he hear the door slowly open behind him. He froze, and didn`t turn around. It wasn`t Lestrade and John returning, no one enters their own office like that.

After he heard the first quiet footstep behind him, he knew who it was but he waited. Something akin to fear grew deep down in his chest.

The footfalls continued, until the person was right behind him. He waited like a man at the gallows.

A soft low voice right by his ear said. "I thought it was you Sherlock. So nice of you to come and see me." It was the cooing soft voice of DS James Moriarty.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spider taunts it's prey in it's web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I use a Japanese keyboard, the apostrophe is in a awkward place and for years I've just been using the accent mark which is conveniently located above the home keys. I've never thought about it before but uhh it seems to really bug people with punctuation OCD. So I'm sorry, I will try and force myself to fumble around with my keyboard and use the proper apostrophe key from now on (I think I mistyped every apostrophe in this document at least once lol), and will go back and edit all my accent marks to apostrophes.

Sherlock didn't look back, he kept his eyes focused on the screen, at the last few bars filling up on the systems message box. He moved his hand under the desk, feeling for the USB stick and pulling it free gently as soon as the copying was finished and slipped it silently into his jacket pocket.

"Surprised to see me alive?" Sherlock asked emotionless, swiveling around to face Moriarty.

Moriarty swayed his head and shoulders a bit as he thought, "Mmmmm I'll admit I was a little bit surprised, I thought you were good as dead with that little cocktail." Moriarty took one step back to perch on the other desk behind him. "I suppose you've come to thank me."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow slightly, "Thank you? Why would I thank you?"

Moriarty casually slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. "For giving you the final problem, the problem of staying alive." The DS was smiling and he leaned forward a bit, "Nearly dying has worked wonders for you...I mean..." He looked Sherlock up and down. "Off the coke, nice new pet in tow...." His smile widened into a perverse grin. "...shouldn't sleep with pets though Sherlock, you could get diseases. Well I guess it's more likely to be the other way around in your case."

Sherlock ignored the jab, even though the mention of John sent a jolt of dread through him. "I know it's you involved in the killings, and I think your insane enough to be doing it yourself."

"You're only just getting that?" Moriarty's brown eyes rolled around the room, "Bit slow on the uptake there. But bravo on coming all the way to Scotland Yard. I do like this." He nodded to Sherlock's appearance. "Nothing sexier than a civil servant. I should know, I am one." He said in some kind perverse seduction.

Sherlock stood, drawing himself to his full height. 

Jim looked totally at ease still. "I saw him out there, trying to sound interested in Lestrade droning on. Those little people, so normal, so boring." He met Sherlock`s eyes. "You and I are different, we're not one of them...we`re perfect for each other."

"You attempts to flirt have so far been nothing but average." Sherlock bit back.

Moriarty feed off Sherlock's antagonism, "Only got eyes for your little dog? I had a dog once. You know what I did to it? Shot it. I can do that too to John Watson too, I can stop his heart."

It took every ounce of control for Sherlock to keep his face neutral. In truth Moriarty focusing on John panicked him, it was one thing putting himself in danger, but the policeman was unhinged enough to attack him through John. He'd been so focused on trying to foil him that he`d not realized the implications to John. Sherlock swallowed before speaking, "Have you done?" he asked.

"Oh no no...here, I have a present." Moriarty stood up closing the space between them. He reached into his inside pocket for a plastic zip lock bag filled with white powder. "Things are always going missing from the evidence room, not sure how good it is though..." He looked at Sherlock`s completely impassive face. "Don`t worry, this isn`t poison." He pulled open the bag, and keeping his eyes locked with Sherlock's he slowly licked the tip of his little finger and dipped it into the powder. "Here have a taste."

Moriarty held out his finger as if Sherlock was going to lick it off himself. The taller man looked down in barely contained contempt. Moriarty shrugged, and licked it off himself. "Bit heavy on the caffeine pills, but you must be dying for a fix." He grinned again waving it in front of Sherlock like you would a dog with a toy. "Don't be shy now." He tucked the small bag into the other man's breast pocket, giving it a few pats to smooth it down.

"I am hoping we can continue our game Sherlock, sorry about the attempted murder." Moriarty's fingers lingered on the taller man`s chest. "We are having fun aren't we."

Sherlock wasn't backing down and he didn't move a muscle. "You have a strange idea of fun."

"As do you Sherlock...living rough, taking coke, breaking the law...look at how your getting your kicks right now." The DS said darkly.

Just then the door opened, and Jim turned around with a bemused expression to show the his boss.

Both Lestrade and John looked between the two, wondering what was going on. "Jim, what are you doing here?"

"I just came to talk to you about..." Moriarty shrugged. "Police things. Got talking to Mr. Holmes about crime reduction policy." 

"Right..." Lestrade said, thinking once again Moriarty was a strange one. But he had brought some great ideas, could anticipate the pick-pocketing rings and he was grateful to have him on his side. Lord knows if he hadn't become a policeman he'd be some kind of criminal mastermind.

Sherlock hadn't let his eyes move from Moriarty, he was glowering. He hadn't bothered to put back on his paper pusher persona, and stood tall and rock solid. "We are leaving. Now." He said in a deep menacing baritone.

Jim turned his head back towards Sherlock, and knowing that only the pick-pocket would be able to see it, kissed his teeth silently at the dark haired man. Lets play some more.

But Sherlock pushed past them both the police officers, and John barely managed to get out his way as he stormed his way out the office towards the elevators.

John was left with Lestrade staring at him, obviously a bit stunned a maybe a little worried things had gone badly with a stooge of the Home Secretary. "Thanks for the tour....it'll go into the report." John blurted out and followed after Sherlock.

He caught up with him at the elevators, where Sherlock was impatiently hitting the call button as if that would make it arrive faster. "What was that about?" He asked in a low voice.

"Not here." Sherlock said, and thankfully the doors opened. Their ride down and out the building was silent and awkward, John having to quicken his pace to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. 

As always he followed the tall figure of Sherlock ducking and weaving through the office workers returning from their lunch breaks. They were in Westminster, the heart of government and public sector. Sherlock headed to a street of restaurants and bars that catered to all levels of the civil service workers, and entered an up-scale bar.

It was mostly empty, just a few people late returning from their liquid lunches. Sherlock called over the barman with his two fingers like you would a dog, and demanded "Whisky. I don't care what. Double."

John watched in disapproval as the barman poured the measure of something that looked old and expensive, and Sherlock took it without thanks and downed half of it, brow creasing as the amber liquid burned his throat.

"What the fuck was that Sherlock, was that the guy?" John asked.

"Yes, obviously that was him John." Sherlock laughed bitterly and finished his glass and shoved it back at the barman. Alcohol was such an inferior intoxicant he thought. "Another." He ordered impatiently.

When the glass arrived back with another double, he picked it up and stared at the whiskey. He noticed it was rippling like there was a mini-earthquake, then he realized it wasn`t just the whiskey moving, but the glass and his hand too. He was literally trembling.

John noticed too, "You're shaking." He said more in disbelief than anything.

"My body betrays me." Sherlock said, and laughed with a bitter twisted smile. His body was so weak, at the mercies of emotion and addiction, failing to listen to his rational intellect.

John watched as Sherlock took another gulp of the whisky, it scared him like that night he found Sherlock under the bridge.

"I'll be back." Sherlock said removing his glasses and throwing them on the wooden bar counter. The disguise was useless now.

Sherlock went to the back to the toilets, and stood in front of the brightly lit mirror. He leaned down on the marble counter, trying to calm himself.

He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out the bag of white powder and stared at it in the palm of his hand. He was weak, and not taking cocaine had made him weaker. He`d let Moriarty affect him so badly, he'd already lost two battles to him.

But now the stakes were even higher, it wasn't just his life on the line, he'd involved John intimately in his own affairs. There was no way he could let Moriarty win, even if it meant giving up these few weeks of domesticity to return to drugs and the streets.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John part ways.

Sherlock was hunched over the marble counter by the sink, and inhaled a line of blow through a rolled up £20 note. He straightened up sniffing the powder, feeling the waiting rush of blood to his head. Out of habit he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and looked at himself in the ambient lighting of the men's toilets. He imagined the benzoylmethylecgonine passing through the nasal membranes, starting to circulate through his body to his brain. The high pockets of both high hydrophilic and lipophilic efficiency in the molucle allowed it to pass through the blood brain barrier easily, where it would then block norepinephrine, serotonin, dopamine, and other neurotransmitters from being reabsorbed.

Sherlock's heart was racing already, and he felt good once again. He stared at his dilated pupils in the mirror. He knew he was better than Moriarty once again, he could beat him.

 _C17H21NO4_ , he recited the chemical formula in his head.

"Why?" A voice called from the side of him.

So intent on studying himself and the effects the drug had on him Sherlock hadn't noticed John enter the toilets. Sherlock looked at the shorter man, noticing the tense line of the doctor`s mouth, the furrowed lines of his forehead and sadness in his eyes. Disappointment.

Sherlock didn`t reply, and John came close to pick up the open small bag of coke laying on the marble. "Where did you get this?" He asked holding it up to Sherlock`s face, anger tingeing his voice.

John`s disapproval washed over him, not making an impact in his chemical euphoria. "Moriarty." He told him, like an unrepentant school boy.

"Moriarty? And you just took this?" John asked in disbelief. "Are you off your trolley, he could have done anything to it." He dumped the white powder into the sink, rinsing it away with water.

Sherlock watched maybe £30 of coke go down the drain, unmoved by John's anger. "It was fine. Moriarty has moved on in his game plan."

John shook his head. "Again, I want to know why Sherlock, why start again now."

Sherlock breathed out heavily, rolling his eyes around the small toilets of the Whitehall bar. "Inconsequential."

"Well not to me you smug prick." John tried to hold back his temper, but it hurt him so personally to see Sherlock like this. He had liked the new sober Sherlock, the one that liked him. Sherlock taking drugs again felt like a rejection of him.

Sherlock's own temper flared back. "Because I'm going to lose against him, if he can reduce me to a shivering wreck. If I lose then bad things will happen John." Happen to you.

"So you need to snort some coke to get your confidence back? For a man with a huge ego you sure are fragile." John shook his head, he was at a loss what to say. "Just…" He held up his hand. "I don`t know." He backed away, he needed to get out of here. Why was he surprised, Harry always disappointed him like this, he should have known better than to get involved with another addict.

John left with Sherlock staring after him, watching the door swing back closed. Maybe it would be best to abandon this experiment in normalcy.

 

John spent the next few hours walking around central London, slowly making his way back to Baker Street. The chilly air cooled his anger, and the more it faded the more guilty he felt. Relapse was bound to happen, and he'd totally lost it. He let his issues with Harry cloud his judgment, and he should of considered the stress Sherlock had been under and not berate him so much.

He needed to talk to Sherlock, he needed to tell him he was still there for him.

When he entered 221B he was hoping Sherlock would be there, "Sherlock?" He called, but there was no answer. He checked around the flat, and noted with dismay that the clothes Sherlock had worn to get into Scotland Yard was strewn around the bedroom floor. He must have gotten a cab back, changed and left again. He hoped it wasn`t to go get more drugs.

When he noticed that the violin case was gone as well, alarm started to rise. That had always been the thing that let him know Sherlock would be back when they had shared his small bedsit. Now it was gone, did that mean Sherlock would not be back?

He took out his phone, and opened a new message.

Please come back

John wrote and hit send, he hoped there would be a near instant reply. There wasn`t, and he went into the living room to flop down on his chair.

John was helpless but to wait, but no amounts of crap tele could distract him from his worry and guilt.

 

Sherlock didn`t come back that night, nor was there any evidence he`d been back to the flat when John returned from work. All his texts had been ignored. He could barely sleep in that empty lonely bed, and the next day he went out to wonder around central London. He revisited all of Sherlock's favorite pick-pocketing spots, desperately hoping to spot a tall man in a blue coat with messy dark hair.

But it really felt pointless, he must have passed thousands of people in the streets. He was turning down Savile Row to head towards Soho when a sedan with black windows pulled up beside him, quietly gliding to a stop where the door opened.

Mycroft, John thought. Annoying as the man was, he could probably do with some help. He climbed into the empty back, and let the driver take him to a white painted Victorian house, with a simple gold plaque that said Diogenes Club.

John entered the building, realizing it was some posh Gentleman`s club, it was like a time warp to 1902. And the men in the main reading room looked like they`d been here that long too, so old and stuffy they looked.

He was about to open his mouth when a tail coated footman promptly escorted him to a side room, without saying a word. The room was labeled Stranger's Room, where he found Mycroft pouring two ports from a crystal decanter.

"Ah, John." He said, replacing the top to the decanter, and indicated the doctor take a seat in the red leather chair, where he handed him the port in it's little crystal glass.

"I thought you might like a refreshment, you certainly have been busy today." Mycroft said taking a the matching chair sat in front of the fireplace and crossing his legs. "So Sherlock's back on the illicit substances I see."

John flexed his fingers and avoided Mycroft's stare. "Seems so."

"Still one month clean, that's unheard of for Sherlock." Mycroft told him, taking a sip of the dark red port. "I assume since you've been trailing the streets of London for most of the day, you wish to reconcile?"

John didn't really want to talk about his relationship with Mycroft of all people. "I wish to talk to him."

"Are you going to tolerate his drug use?" Mycroft's stare hardened, John's answer seemed of particular of importance.

John wasn't sure what answer Mycroft was hoping for, he answered truthfully. "Yes, I'd rather he was living with me on drugs than out on the streets. I…" he looked for the words. "…worry about him."

Mycroft processed the new information, and nodded slowly. "Do you know how many rehabilitation programs Sherlock has been in? 12. I done everything in my power, bribery, blackmail, kidnap even. The failure was nothing to do with will-power, Sherlock can do anything he puts his mind to. He just never had the will, and I washed my hands of him." Mycroft's eyes softened a bit, and John thought there might be regret there. "There was never any will until he met you."

John swallowed his embarrassment, and asked, "Do you know where he is? Will you tell me?"

Mycroft reached into his grey striped jacket inside pocket, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through it as he talked, "Since Sherlock will not tolerate my direct intervention, I will support you in the hopes that he will eventually get on a less turbulent path." Mycroft hit send, and a few moments later John's mobile phone buzzed in his pocket. "He's there, do try not to lose him again."

John quickly checked his phone where he had a new text. "Thank you!" He said jumping out of his seat immediately, but he stopped before he reached the door. "But you should know, there's this guy at the met…"

"Yes, I noticed your little jaunt over to Scotland Yard." Mycroft sipped the last of his port. "I am keeping my eye on the situation." He told the doctor, and picked up the Daily Telegraph from the side table, that appeared to be all he'd say on the matter. "Hurry doctor, before he wonders off."

John didn't need to be told twice, and took off to find a cab.

 

 

Sherlock stood on the Southbank of the river Themes, facing the water. He was playing his violin, drawing out a long mournful melody he improvised.

He'd left Baker Street just with his violin and the clothes on his back, determined to break ties with John, and think of some way to deal with Moriarty on his own.

As his high wore off, he could feel the creeping spell of depression looming. But he didn't text his dealer, he just walked and walked, until he came to the Themes.

He`d been there since, playing the violin or watching the people go by, deducing their history. The nights were cold, and he realized that well…he missed company. He always thought he needed no one, that he was self-sufficient. But now he missed John.

Telling himself he was doing this for John, keeping him out of this whole mess, he put his sadness into his playing.

The wind blew off the river, and he closed his eyes and put his sadness into his playing.  
He heard someone`s footsteps come behind him. Brisk, sure steps, a short gait…

Sherlock stopped playing to open his eyes, and in a small breath he said "John…"

That second he felt familiar arms encircle his chest from behind, and a face being buried into his shoulder. "Don`t play like that." The shorter man said into his wool coat.

Sherlock didn't dare turn around, knowing if he looked at the man he'd grown so fond his resolve would crumble. "You should…"

But John cut him off, tightening his embrace. "Please come back, I'm sorry I got angry."

Sherlock's arms came down, still grasping the bow and violin tightly in his hands as he watched the boats slowly travel up and down the river. "It's not that easy John." He said.

"It is. I'll face anything with you, as long as you're with me." He took in a deep breath of Sherlock's hair, uncaring if anyone was watching. "I need you." He admitted.

Sherlock heard the slight quiver in John's voice when he said that. He bent down to put the violin into the case, and turned around in John's arms to face him. He saw how tired John looked, the concern. He brought the back of his hand to John's face, and stroked his knuckles down it. "It`s dangerous." He told him.

"I don't care. I'll face it with you." John said firmly.

Sherlock's resolve did dissolve in the strength in John`s voice. "Where would I be without my sponsor." He said before giving the doctor a slow kiss, which was returned with the past two days regret and longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh that was fluffy there at the end, guess there needs to be a break in the angst sometimes!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home coming and thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took such a long time, I came to a real mental block thinking up the final arc. But have some fluff and sex.

It had been two days since Sherlock had returned, but he'd barely said a word. He would just lay stretched out on the sofa, feet dangling over the edge and an arm thrown over his face. 

While John was relieved to have Sherlock back, he worried to see Sherlock like this. He didn't know if it was a chemical come down, or something else. He was reluctant to intrude on Sherlock's mood, thinking it was best the man learn to cope with it by himself rather than hand holding.

But after John came back from some locum work and saw the sandwich he'd made and left on the coffee table that morning untouched, he couldn't take it anymore.

"You've not eaten." He asked, throwing his keys down with a clatter before removing his coat.

"Mmm." Was all Sherlock murmured from the sofa, barely acknowledging John's presence.

"When did you last eat?" John said sternly.

Sherlock just ignored him with his eyes closed.

John gave up waiting for an answer, and sat on the coffee towards the end of the sofa Sherlock had his head. "So what is wrong?" He pressed.

"Thinking." Sherlock mumbled.

"About what? Drugs or Moriarty?" John asked, pulling his tie loose.

John could see the muscles tighten in Sherlock's jaw. "Moriarty." He said before opening his eyes and finally looking at John. "I`ve not taken drugs since the bar."

They hadn't talked about Sherlock's relapse since he'd gotten him home. John wasn't sure he wanted to know whether Sherlock was using again, to think about the guilt of having to enable Sherlock if he wanted him in his life.

But now John felt relief rush over him. "I'm glad." He admitted and bent down to kiss Sherlock softly on the lips. He felt the taller man relax slightly, as they tentatively caressed each other's lips.

Their relationship subsisted mostly on kisses and cuddles, only a few times had they ventured into explorative fumbling in the middle of the night. John could tell Sherlock was really quite timid when it came to sex, and he didn't want to push him. If things went further, fine. If not, fine.

But having Sherlock kissing him so softly, hand coming up to entangle in the back of his hair. John pulled back, the taste of Sherlock. "You're amazing." He muttered, searching Sherlock's silvery eyes. "I'll do anything for you to be with me."

Their faces still close Sherlock searched John's eyes, reading him. "Why does it hurt you when I take drugs?"

John swallowed, "Because…" His eyes flicked down hinting at his embarrassment, "I love you and I want you to be with me forever. Not to find you dead one morning."

He'd said it, he loved Sherlock.

The closest thing to surprise crossed Sherlock's face. Despite being a genius human emotion seemed to escape him most of the time. John mentally squirmed, maybe now wasn't the right time to throw that out there. "I don't mind if you don't love me back." He blurted out nervously, he couldn't escape though, Sherlock still had his hand on the back of his neck.

"John…" Sherlock said in a low husky voice, and pulled the older man back down to him, to kiss him again, tongue begging for attention at his mouth.

What kind of an answer was that? John thought. He wasn't expecting a I love you back, or chocolates and roses from Sherlock. But this kiss was enough, he brought his hands up to take the sides of Sherlock's face to deepen the kiss. God the man was so beautiful, and he was lucky enough to have him like this. He'd take anything Sherlock offered him.

John could feel Sherlock pulling him, and he shifted position so he lay beside Sherlock on the narrow sofa. His hands moved down over the old t-shirt feeling for the warmth of the other man's body. He resisted the urge to slip his hands under the thin fabric.

"Don't leave me." John muttered into Sherlock's lips, before kissing him more hungrily, biting at the other man's full lower lip. He swore he heard a sigh escape Sherlock.

"John, you should know." Sherlock said trying to collect himself into his more rational self, but failing. "I`ve not been tested."

That made John stop, and he pulled back more to look at Sherlock's face. "You've shared needles?"

Sherlock nodded, "A long time ago. I was more careless in the first heady days of IV cocaine. It's unlikely but I've never thought it important to check. Just you should know."

The thought of Sherlock having some terrible disease, wasting away like so many of the residents of the clinic caused his heart to tighten. "Get tested." John told him and kissed him, "But it won't change what I feel about you." He'd stick with Sherlock through anything. 

Sherlock broke the kisses reluctantly, "I'm a high risk." He warned.

"Like that's ever put me off you." John recaptured his lips to continue his kisses. "Just get tested, if it was a long time ago you'd probably be sick by now anyway, so you will be needlessly worrying." 

To prove his point, John moved his hand lower between them, to feel the hardening lump in Sherlock's pajamas. "Is this why you've never let me…"

Sherlock's eye were half lidded now, as he felt John's ministrations make him harder, and he just nodded. 

"Tell me what you want, what you really want." John said lowly, seeing Sherlock so vulnerable like this was making himself hard.

"I…" Sherlock began but stopped.

"Just tell me, I'm a doctor I can judge the risk." John told him.

"Your mouth…" Sherlock said eyes closed now, as if too embarrassed to look at John as he admitted his need. "But only with a condom."

John nodded as he got up off the sofa. "Ok." He agreed, and went to their shared bedroom where he had kept a box of condoms just in case Sherlock ever agreed to more. Just the thought of giving Sherlock a blow job felt like Christmas.

When he returned, Sherlock was sitting up on the sofa, arms over the back and head lolling to the side. He looked like he was trying to get control of his breathing.

John kneed down nestled between the other man`s long legs, and leaned up to pull Sherlock into a passionate kiss, hands exploring that wonderful body again, reaching down lower until he hooked the front of Sherlock`s pajamas to pull them down to let Sherlock's semi-erect penis free. Sherlock`s hands went to the loosened tie at his neck, pulling at the knot so it was free and out the way, and discarded it somewhere.

He couldn't resist it, he leaned forward to lap his tongue around the head, and Sherlock squirmed in protest.

Rolling the condom on, he took Sherlock into his mouth ignoring the taste of latex, keeping his eyes on him. He watched his reactions, the way those long violinist fingers gripped the back of the sofa until the joints were white.

"John…" Sherlock muttered, and the blond man quickened his motions, bringing his hands up to help Sherlock along.

He heard a muffled sound, and could fell Sherlock tense. Then there was a hand being pushed against his forehead trying to push him away, the sensitivity was too much.

John sat back on his heels to look at the state Sherlock was in, all those intellectual defenses down. He disposed of the used condom, and lent onto Sherlock's lap so he could put his arms around his waist and rest his head on Sherlock's thighs. 

He listened to Sherlock's breathing, and waited for him to recover a bit before asking. "How was that?" he asked.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Better than…expected." He said still a bit breathless.

John chuckled a bit, "Uh thanks, I think." But he nuzzled into Sherlock's lap, content to stay like this forever.

He felt a hand tentatively come up to stroke his hair, and John felt his eye's dropping at the tender affection.

It could have been 10 minutes or half an hour, but Sherlock's voice brought him out of his doze. "What did you think of DI Lestrade?" He asked as if back in thought.

"Mmm…" John tried to wake himself from the peacefulness he'd been joining. "Ok for a cop I guess. Why you fancy him?" He joked.

"Of course not." John could not see Sherlock's face but he heard the scorn. "So would you say he's an honest policeman?"

"Couldn't you tell from his shirt creases or something?" John murmured kind of reluctant to be brought back to the world of serious thought when he could just be enjoying the warmth of Sherlock's body.

"From his office he is on the straight and narrow, never even taken a bribe from the News of the World." Sherlock had kept his petting of John's hair up, as if it was helping him think. "But then he praises a man like Moriarty."

"Moriarty's convincing, like you when you want to be."

"Hmm." A deep murmur came from Sherlock`s throat.

John turned his head to look up at Sherlock, to see him deep in thought. "Why are you so interested in Lestrade?" He asked seriously.

"Because, there is no way I can touch Moriarty from the outside." Sherlock told him, eyes narrowing a bit, "So maybe I should try from the inside. The only question is, will Lestrade do the right thing if the seeds of doubt are placed. Or would he rather not face an ugly truth, one that could bring the Met to it's knees in scandal."

John's brow furrowed a bit as he thought. Like most Guardian readers he had a certain amount of distrust for the Metropolitan police and their working practices, but the brief time he had spent with DI Lestrade he just seemed over worked and over stressed. "I think he's a good man." John said.

"A good man, which means not the most clever for being taken in by Moriarty." Sherlock's lip curled, "I guess I can work with that."

"Right so you've come up with something?" John asked pushing himself up onto his heels. "Can you take a break from thinking to eat a bit now? Indian? I'm starving and could kill for a madras. 

"Acceptable." Sherlock agreed. "Chicken korma, and onion bhajis."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock enlists some help from inside the Met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long, I had no power all last weekend and with no aircon it was too hot to think let alone write longhand by candle light. So I tried to make this chapter a bit longer to make up for the delay!

As always Lestrade left the darkened offices of New Scotland Yard, eyes hurting from the paperwork. But really things were going pretty well for his department at the moment. Arrests were down, but so were the figures which was the main thing. It seems the targeted sweeps thought up by DS Moriarty really had hit the gangs hard, and they were backing off? Moving on? As long as they weren't operating on his patch, he didn't care where they went.

He left through the glass front doors of the yard, giving a nod to the night constable as he passed. He got to the main street and looked towards the tube station, then looked in the other direction thinking he decided a quick pint before going home to the missus.

Just about to head towards his favorite watering hole, when a hand on his shoulder made him spin around.

He looked into the face of a tall man with wild curly hair, and he glanced between the face and the black leather gloved hand still on his shoulder.

"Excuse me." A deep velvety voice said, "I think you dropped this."

Lestrade's eyes went to what the other hand held out offered to him, a small black leather booklet with the silver badge of the London Metropolitan police on the front.

The policeman felt into his inner jacket pocket, and felt where his recently replaced badge was after he'd somehow lost the old one some time ago.

"Nah mate, can't be mine." He pointed towards the yard's office building. "Just drop it in there someone will get it back to the owner."

"I'm rather certain this is yours, DI Lestrade." Said the man coolly, flipping open the badge to reveal Lestrade's own name and number.

"Bloody hell." Lestrade said in shock, taking the badge to inspect it even closer. It was indeed his old badge that had gone missing months ago. Just how did someone turn up with it? He looked up at the mysterious man. Now he had time to think, that man looked so familiar....but not.

The hair and manner was way off, but those piecing light grey eyes jogged a memory from a few weeks previously. "Mycroft...Holmes?" He ventured, still utterly confused.

The taller skinny man let his hand slip from the DI's shoulder., now certain he had the policeman's attention and wasn't going to go anywhere. "Mmm..." He murmured, before giving a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "Half right."

This was just getting weirder and weirder. The ULTRA security clearance had seemed a bit fishy to him at the time, it wasn't the sort of person you'd send on some basic fact finding mission. Now he defiantly knew this was nothing like it seemed.

"Ok, who ever you are, you had better start telling me what the hell is going on right now." The older man bristled, he didn't like government agencies playing games with him.

"No need to be so alarmed DI Lestrade." The man said with an annoying smirk breaking across his lips. "At least not for the reasons you are thinking anyway. I suggest we carry this conversation on at the Kings Arms."

Which was the pub Lestrade had been about to head to, this was going from weird to a bit creepy. This man seemed to know a lot about him, and he didn't even know this guy's name.

The tall man turned and started walking in the direction of the pub, not even looking over his shoulder to see if the policeman was following, as if it was a given. He did have a choice, just ignore the nutter and head home...but he followed in the other man's footsteps, keeping his eyes on the narrow back and long coat tails.

Lestrade followed the man all the way into the pub, where the taller man easily scanned the tables and indicated an empty one in a quiet corner. "I'll have the same as you inspector, a pint." He said before leaving the older man to get the drinks in.

Put out by the mysterious man's brazenness, Lestrade none the less ordered two pints, and took them over to the table where the other man was waiting, fingers drumming on the wooden table impatiently.

Lestrade sat opposite him, and begrudgingly pushed a pint glass towards the man. "Now who are you." He asked, his patience wearing thin.

The slender man seemed to find the situation amusing as his lips twitched into a half smile, but he kept his gaze fixed on the police man. "The name's Sherlock Holmes."

Lestrade looked at him doubtful. "Really now..." He didn't like having games played with him.

"Yes Inspector, Mycroft Holmes is unfortunately of some relation, and I borrowed his ID for my visit to your department. I'm sure you've worked out now I am not employed by the government in anyway."

Both their beers sat untouched between them, neither willing to break eye contact. "So just what the fuck were you doing in my department?" The policeman asked.

"I was investigating, in an unofficial capacity of course." Sherlock said coolly.  
"Investigating what exactly?" Lestrade frowned, he liked the idea of some random crazy person snooping around his police business even less than government agencies snooping.

Sherlock's eyes scanned the other man, as if he was reading him before making a decision. "You have a bad apple. Although bad is putting it lightly, it's more of a toxic one." His eyes hardened on the Inspector. "A deadly one."

The cogs churned in Lestrade's head as he tried to work out what Sherlock was implying. "Can you stop speaking in such vague bollocks."

Sherlock looked a bit disappointed. "Am I going to have to hand hold you through all this Inspector." his eyes rolled a bit in exasperation. "You have someone very dangerous in your department, someone's who's actions would sully even further the Met's not too polished name."

The idea of a bad element in his team made Lestrade's spine stiffen. He trusted every member of his team, that's how it worked. They were all part of the brother hood of coppers. "Who? Give me a name and why." He really hoped this was just some unfounded accusation from some lunatic with a grudge.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Before I discuss this further, I want to know if the barrel is already toxic too."

"What do you mean?" Asked Lestrade.

"I mean..." Sherlock leaned on his elbows to get a bit closer to the inspector. "How complicit are you in this man's actions? By your reaction I can see you didn't even have any suspicions...but now I've informed you..." The dark haired man tilted his head to the side slightly, looking at the Inspector through a few stray strands of curly hair. "Are you of strong enough moral character to tear up your department and probably in the process ruin your career, especially for a man who's methods while abhorrent to any normal human being, work." He waited for Lestrade's answer, poised and ready to take in every detail of his response.

Lestrade ignored the suggestion that the met were not normal human beings, but he didn't even need to think about his answer to Sherlock's. "If any member of my department is doing anything untoward, I will personally report, or even arrest them myself."

Sherlock seemed satisfied and nodded, sitting back in his chair to take his first sip from the beer glass that had sat in front of him. "Good."

Lestrade finally took a big drink from his glass, he wasn't convinced any of this was true but just the idea of something wrong within his team made him want a drink. "But I'm not taking the word of some random crank pot, who impersonates members of government to come and sneak around my office." God just what had this man been up to in the time he had alone in there. "Just what is your interest in all this?"

Something in Sherlock's eyes went a bit cold at the question. "I am a recently retired consulting pick-pocket." He said nonplussed. "And your dirty cop was the one who put me out of business, not least by his attempt to murder me."

With the word murder, something in Lestrade's chest froze. Taking bribes, racketeering was what he had been considering, nothing like murder. "You're saying someone in my team tried to murder you?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying Inspector." Sherlock waved his hand at the man across from him, "Before you even ask, no I have no proof. Your poisonous little spider wanted to get rid of the competition, and have a little fun in the process. You have quite a twisted little sadist on your hands. Now he's threatening an associate of mine to get to me, so it's become personal."

Lestrade's mind went back to the conversation they'd had last time they met. "Are you saying this guy is connected to the gang murders?"

Sherlock smiled, "So you're not as slow as you seem Inspector. I thought I was going to have to draw a diagram for you."

Lestrade ignored the insult. "You've still not told me a name, this all still sounds like bullshit from some disgruntled pick-pocket we've probably picked up at some point."

Sherlock's mouth twisted into a snarl. "I'll assure you I've never been caught by your dim witted team of robo-cops. I was, and still am the best. I took your badge right as you were in the middle of arrest."

That smarted a bit, Lestrade remembered the day his badge had gone missing. He had it one moment, and then it was gone. He was sure he had dropped it. "You're so good how comes you nearly got killed." He bit back.

Sherlock's annoyance grew. "Have you listened to a word I said Inspector? This man does not play by the rules, he plays dirty and exploited a...weak point of mine." He did not seem to want to elaborate further.

Lestrade was getting tired of this, he mind was churning through all the members of his team, but he couldn't imagine any one of them being capable of anything like murder. "Give me a name." He demanded.

"Moriarty." Sherlock said his eyes never leaving the Inspector.

"Moriarty?" Lestrade repeated in disbelief. "You're kidding me?" Sherlock didn't look like he was joking. He thought about his newest team member, sure he was a bit weird but he was also just so....weedy. All brains but not willing to get his hands dirty in proper police work. Moriarty going around murdering people? "Impossible." He declared.

"Not impossible, improbable maybe, but that doesn't stop it being true." Sherlock told him.

Lestrade shook his head trying to get his head around the whole thing. "Where's your proof."

Again Sherlock looked irritated. "If I had proof do you think I'd be talking to you right now. The murders, investigate them. Start putting pressure on gangs that are going under the radar, Moriarty is pulling their strings now to make a tidy profit.

Lestrade took a gulp of his beer, he needed it more than ever now.

"You don't believe me, fine. Do some digging of your own Inspector, or have you gotten so used to DS Moriarty's helpful guidance that you've forgotten how to investigate." Sherlock baited.

Lestrade did not take the insult on his professionalism well. "Piss off."

"Look into it Inspector." Sherlock urged. "But a word of warning, be discreet. Because I'm sure with Moriarty's gathering influence in the underworld, and his frankly insane sense of humor, he'll have no hesitation about arranging some kind of ironic accident for you."

Lestrade downed the rest of his pint and got up to leave. He'd had enough and turned to leave.

"I will be in touch inspector, I'm sure you'll need my help in trapping a slippery snake like Moriarty." Sherlock told him, picking up his own drink to finish.

Lestrade gave Sherlock a last once over. Insane, bitter, or telling the truth? If any of this was true, he was well and truly fucked. He almost wished that paper work was the worst part of his job now.

==================================================================

John helped Molly clear away some dirty dressings throwing them into the hazard waste bin before going to disinfect everything down.

The smell of cleaner made his eye sting, and he was hoping to get done quickly to see if Sherlock was there. He found himself worrying about the other man now days, off gallivanting on his `investigation` into a psychopathic policeman.

But when he got home and saw him safe with his own eyes, relief would flood him and he could mother about him tempting his lover with food and kisses, ignoring any moods or brooding.

He was getting some more clean paper towels to dry everything down, when he noticed Molly had been talking to him.

"Sherlock's not stayed in ages." She said miserably wiping a chair down.

"Oh." John said vaguely. Well of course Sherlock hadn't been back to the hostel since John had found him that time off his head on a massive coke binge under a railway bridge.

"Do you think he's ok?" Molly asked him, going over a spot again she had only just wiped down.

John knew what she was thinking, she was thinking Sherlock had either moved on somewhere, or was dead. He felt a pang of guilt knowing how much she was smitten with Sherlock, but now would never know what had happened to him. "I'm sure he's fine...he's a smart guy...like he's probably got himself back on his feet and..." He stopped before he really said too much.

Molly didn't look convinced, it was an unlikely story. Especially someone like Sherlock who had made a life choice to live rough. God why did she have to look so sad, it reminded him of those days when he didn't know where Sherlock was and if he was even coming back. Not knowing was the worst part.

"Look, Molly..." He said, trying to get her attention from the already spotless chair. "I know Sherlock is doing well, he's even gotten himself clean."

That caught Molly's interest. "Really? How do you know? Did you see him?"

The hope in her voice made him feel bad about holding back on the details. "Yes I've seen him...." Seen him a lot actually. "And he's living in a nice flat, off the drugs."

Molly's face brightened further. "Really? I mean that's wonderful, but when did you see him? How did he look? How did he get somewhere to live? Was he less...well grumpy?"

Specific questions was really not what John wanted, because now it was going from omitting the truth, to outright lying. "Still grumpy." That was the only question he could answer easily.

He looked at her, and she was waiting expectantly with puppy dog eyes for news of her crush. "Look Molly..." He took a deep breath. "Actually Sherlock is now my roommate." No need to tell her about the blowjobs.

Molly's jaw dropped. "Roommate?" 

"Yeah." John tried to sound casual, like it would be a totally normal thing to move in with a homeless coke head. "He knew a flat, he's like well quite rich really I think...and he got off the drugs." No need to tell her about the OD either.

"Wow...that's, really nice." Molly tried to sound happy at the news, John was pretty certain there was a hint of jealousy though.

Might as well go for broke since he's already broken her heart by trying to be nice. "Actually Molly, since Sherlock's been clean he'd like to get a full blood work done. Do you think we could run it through here? He's a stubborn git won't go to a clinic like a normal person would." He smiled at her with his best charm.

"Oh well...since Sherlock isn't homeless now....and isn't a user of the hostel services...he should go to the free GUM clinic..."

"I know I know..." John shook his head in exasperation. "But maybe...you can deliver the results envelope to me...in person....at our flat." Sherlock was going to kill him.

"Oh." Molly seemed both surprised and delighted at the idea of seeing Sherlock again. "Well I guess Sherlock never came to the clinic while he stayed here, so he's owed a check up at least." She rationalized, and looked through the cupboards for the right specimen bottles needed for a full STD screening. "I'm sure you know how to do this." She joked.

"I'm sure I can manage, although Sherlock is probably better at finding a vain than I am." He joked dryly, already dreading Sherlock's reaction.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock throws a wobbly and Molly comes to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg I bet you thought this was never gonna get updated! WELL IT DID. Horribly unbetad as usual.

John returned from his volunteer shift, plastic blood specimen bottles in his jacket pocket. He listened for Sherlock as he trudged up the stairs, but could hear no frantic pacing, or tunes from the violin.

But as put his head through the door to the living room he saw Sherlock on the sofa, fingertips touching as he was deep in thought. "Have you not moved all day?" The doctor asked.

"Thinking." Sherlock replied not opening his eyes.

John hummed to himself as he went to perch on the edge of the sofa next to the other man, who made no room for him. Wordlessly he reached into his inside pocket, and fished out the vacuum tubes and a hypodermic needle used to draw blood specimens and let them rest on the coffee table.

As he set them on the table with a gentle clank, Sherlock didn`t open his eyes but instead frowned.

"John, you better not have done what I've just deduced you have done." 

"What might that be?" John asked, eyes glancing up at the ceiling, as if Sherlock would be able to read his body language without even opening his eyes.

"You didn't just convince Molly to run a blood screening for you." Sherlock finally opened his eyes and raised a suspicious eyebrow at John.

"Well it's not like you're going to get off your arse to register at a GPs, or go to a GUM clinic are you." John tried to sound irritated, figuring attack would be his best form of defence.

Sherlock sat up, eyes widening a bit in exaggerated bewilderment. "I didn't realise sex was such a pressing matter for you."

"Oh for fucks sake Sherlock." John let out a sigh, Sherlock was playing dirty trying to guilt him. "You know I don't care what we do together, stop being childish."

"Am I now..." Sherlock levelled a steely glare at him. "Just what did you say to Molly to get her to agree to this?"

Shit, Sherlock had gotten back to the issue again. "Well...she was worried about you." John said avoiding eye contact.

"What did you say John." Sherlock pressed.

"You came up in conversation...and I said you were doing well..." John said casually.

"You call attempted murder doing well?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward on one arm to study John's expression closely.

"Well of course I didn't mention that!" John turned his head to meet Sherlock's eyes, hoping to deflect Sherlock's questioning with confidence.

"Then what did you tell her..." A scowl crossed Sherlock's face as he put the pieces together. "If you didn't try to get her pity...You didn't say anything idiotic did you John, make some kind of moronic gesture to bribe her?"

John knew he had no chance of lying or downgrading it. "I just said...she could pop over with the results..." 

"John you moron!" Sherlock fumed, pushing himself up off the sofa and disappearing into their room, slamming the door to make his point.

"What?!" John shouted after him in exasperation. "She's my friend you know, I can invite her over to where I live anyway." 

"It was highly unprofessional of you." Sherlock shouted from inside the bedroom.

"You're questioning MY professionalism??" John said anger starting to seep into his voice. He grabbed up the vacuum tubes and storming over to the bedroom. He pushed open the door, to see Sherlock under the covers like a small child sulking.

He threw the tubes and plastic hugged hypodermic needle onto the bed beside the lump "You can draw the blood yourself if you're going to be a prat about it. Just get it over with and maybe you can stop being such a pain in the ass. Draw the red one first, green, then purple. Remember to invert the tubes 8 times and leave them in the kitchen. I'll drop it off tomorrow morning." 

John grabbed the door frame, and before he slammed it he said, "And you know I don't care if I ever have sex with you. I asked this favour from Molly for you." He closed the door and went back down the stairs, to leave Sherlock to his huff.

==================================================================

A few hours, and several pints later, John re-entered the flat. He was still a bit peeved at Sherlock, but he wasn't going to stay out all night. Sherlock's coat was still there, so he could only assume he was still in.

He was in two minds about whether he'd be spending the night up in the spare room, although the thought of being alone all night, no warm body to chase away the nightmares pained him.

His anger at Sherlock softened though when he saw the 3 small blood collection tubes laying on the kitchen table. Like some kind of morbid peace offering. The sodium floride in them preserving the red blood in it's liquid form.

John sighed, and shrugged off his jacket to leave it draped over the chair of the kitchen chair. He went into the bedroom, where as he suspected Sherlock was still sulking under the blanket. Wordlessly he got ready for bed, before sliding in next to Sherlock.

The younger man still had his back to him, but John knew he wouldn't be asleep. "Thank you for doing the blood draw." He said into the back of Sherlock's neck. He sighed when there was no response. "This is nothing to do with sex, it's not as if I'd never touch you again even if the tests did find something." He stared up into the ceiling in the darkness. "I'm a doctor, and this is part of me caring for you..." he trailed off, turning onto his side to look into the back of Sherlock's messy curls. "But this isn't really about that is it? It's because I told Molly about you..."

John observed the slightest tensing in the other man's shoulder. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about..." He offered.

"I'm NOT embarrassed!" Sherlock snapped, pulling the sheets tighter around himself.

"Then what? Come on you know Molly, she's got a good heart, she won't..."

A sudden flurry of movement cut John off as Sherlock sat up to glare "I don't want more of her pity."

John sat up to draw level with the other man, "And you won't get that, you're clean, off the streets...she's going to be proud of you." Sherlock made a disgusted face, but John leaned over to give a light kiss those twisted lips. "Come on, happy endings are few and far between for her, it's the least you can do for her favour."

The brief physical contact seemed to melt something in Sherlock. "If I must..." He said, but his voice lacked the anger of before.

John smiled, before kissing him again, a bit longer this time. "Good." He muttered against Sherlock's soft lips.

The slight hitch in Sherlock's breath gave away that the tension was leaving his body. "Must I really endure her..." But his voice was low and heady, it was a very weak protest.

John chuckled before going in for another kiss, soothing away the last remnants of Sherlock's anger. "Yes." He whispered seductively, and finally Sherlock kissed him back hungrily, tongue tasting and exploring John's mouth.

They kissed and touched each other chastely into the night, before John fell asleep with his hand resting of Sherlock's bony hip.

==================================================================

"I don't see why we had to go to the bother of cooking for her." Sherlock complained from the dining table where he was using his laptop.

John raised a eyebrow from where he was washing up the closest . "We? Excuse me Sherlock you've not lifted a finger in the preparation of dinner." 

"It has taken your attention away from more important things." Sherlock replied as his fingers continued to go over the keys, as he looked through the arrest reports in the last 3 months of Operation Spider web. "Which means it involves me and my time."

"Oh shut up will you, it's just a casserole. It's dinner for you too you know." John said wiping his hands dry on his jeans. "Now clear that laptop off so I can set the table."

"Lamb casserole with dumplings, how very school dinners." Sherlock sneered as he slapped his laptop closed to move into the living room.

John sighed, Sherlock had been snipping all afternoon since he found out Molly was coming tonight. He'd tried not to rise to the bait, refusing to let Sherlock spoil his mood This was their first visitor other than Mycroft and Mrs Hudson. It made things feel almost...normal. Well as normal as living with Sherlock Holmes got.

He done his best to tidy the flat, shuffling away the countless pieces of paper, photographs and maps that Sherlock used in his `investigation`.

The dining table was at least clear, and most of the crockery matched, he was quite pleased with himself but he'd daren't voice that to Sherlock who seemed to reject any attempts at domesticity.

He was just about to send a text to Molly to ask whether she was ok to find her way from the tube, when he heard the door knocking down stairs and Mrs Hudson opening it. "Oh you're for the boys!" He heard Mrs Hudson exclaim in surprise, before he headed them off at the top of the stairs.

"Up here Molly." He told her, and greeted her in the way of a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for coming out of your way..."

"Oh it's no problem!" The mousey woman eyes darted around the flat, before widening in delight at seeing Sherlock who hadn't lifted his eyes from his laptop screen. "Sherlock! You look..." She was obviously going to say some kind of pleasantry like `well` or `fine` but Sherlock cut her off.

"Not homeless." The dark haired man said dryly. "So do we open my HIV test results before or after dinner?" 

Molly blushed, and reached into her pocket to pull out a sealed white envelope "Um here they are...I didn't look!" She squeeked.

John shot Sherlock a warning look, and took the envolope from her. "Dinner's ready." He said going over to Sherlock and dropping the envelope onto the laptop in front of him.

He tried to ignore Sherlock and the envelope while he took Molly's coat, but he could hear the envelope being ripped open, and then a few moments silence as Sherlock scanned the results.

"John." Sherlock said from behind him. "I am disease free, we may procede to the next stage of our sexual activities!" 

The world seemed to freeze, as Molly looked from Sherlock, to John, mouth slightly agape. "Sexual? You mean...you two..." She looked at him, asking whether it was a joke or not.

He wanted to deny it, to spare her feelings she obviously had towards Sherlock. And he was annoyed Sherlock had done that, he had intentionally been cruel and tried to embaress John in one foul swoop.

John let out a sigh. "Yes, it's true...we are..." He searched for the best word. Partners? Lovers? Boyfriends? "Together." he settled on.

"Oh...I see..." Molly said trying to hide her disappointment. "I...didn't know you were gay." 

This is just not what he wanted to talk about over dinner. "Well...it's a long story...and nothing ever happened at the shelter, I mean I'm not using it take advantage of..." He said in a rush. "I mean, do you think I could ever take advantage of that git." He tried to smooth over the situation with a bit of dry humour.

Molly giggled politely. "It's really none of my business..." She said, and John was sorry to see the hurt behind her eyes still.

"Sorry, I should have warned you." John said softly before clearing his throat, "Dinners ready, lamb casserole, my mum's recipe." He tried to change the subject and guided her to the table.

Sherlock had gone back to his laptop and John slapped the laptop lid closed and went to his side to lean over into the other man's ear. "Not on. You promised you'd be nice." He said in a low voice that warned they would be discussing this later. The blond man straightened up, and snapped . "Come eat dinner." He said more loudly.

They all settled down at the small dining table and Molly and John chatted about the clinic, to which Sherlock would occasionally interject some cutting observation about the staff or other users he knew.

Things seemed to be going ok, and they barely noticed the knock from downstairs. They did hear Mrs Hudson cry out from down there, "Sherlock! Dr. Watson!" And all three diners stopped what they were doing and looked towards the sounds of heavy footsteps of multiple people coming from up the stairs.

The door swung open, and there stood a slight man, in a very expensive suit. He smirked and mischief twinkled in his dark eyes. "So sorry to interrupt dinner." He said in an Irish lilt. He brandished a MET badge in one hand, and a white letter in the other one, a search warrant. DS Moriarty playfully smiled at Sherlock. "But it's a drugs bust."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who waited and commented! Those comments were really instrumental into this not being abandoned. I think I'm back in the flow a bit more now. This fic WILL get finished.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a drugs bust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honour of druggie!Sherlock making a (brief) cannon appearance, we have an update. It's only been a year...never say never when it comes to updates. Still unbetaed, sorry.

Sherlock was fuming, prowling behind the Met officers as they tore apart 221B.

"Put that back!" He shouted at a constable trying to dismantle a rather suspicious looking set of Pyrex flasks and tubing. "It's a delicate experiment!"

But he was ignored, as the shelves were cleared and furniture dismantled. John and Molly sat on the sofa, a young PC standing watch over them. John remained stoic, breathing steadily through his nose, while Molly looked pale and frightened beside him, her gaze fixed to the carpet as books came crashing down onto the floor.

"For god's sake, it is not illegal to possess formaldehyde!"

"It is if you're lacing it with PCP to soak joints in..." The police officer said dryly. 

"It was obtained for the purpose of science!" Sherlock spun around to the landing door way, where Moriarty had sauntered back in, hands tucked into the pockets of his grey suit, the smuggest smirk on his face.

Sherlock stood up straighter, his face failing to hide his cold rage as he stared at DS Moriarty, who pushed a pile of periodicals with the toe of his polished leather shoe, letting them tip over to join the rest of the chaos.

Moriarty stopped in front of John and Molly on the sofa, ignoring them to study the map and notes Sherlock had pinned to the wall. He looked over his shoulder to Sherlock to give a knowing smile, raising his eyebrows for a brief second.

"We had a tip off from an informant," Moriarty said, shuffling his way slowly around the perimeter of the room, stopping occasionally to prod at something with his latex gloved hands with interest. "That you are a criminal mastermind behind a vast network of pick pocket rings."

He was closer now to Sherlock, and he pushed into the taller man's personal space, undaunted by their difference in size, "I don't know if we'll be able to find something other than circumstantial." He slowly tilted his head up to the other side, "but I'm reasonably certain that we'll find something incriminating." Moriarty's smile widened.

"You need to resort to bogus warrants now to get ahead in the game."

Moriarty mouth hung open in a parody of shock, "it's not bogus if we find something," and the self assured smile was back.

"Sherlock, I think you should call a lawyer..." John said from the sofa.

"Oh the little dog barks away in the corner!" Moriarty said loud enough for John to hear, but never let his gaze leave Sherlock's. "I must say I never expected to see you so domesticated, I thought you rather enjoyed sleeping in cardboard boxes, it was rather bohemian."

John couldn't sit any long, he stood ignoring the police officer who stood guard over them warning gesture and shouted across to Moriarty, "you have nothing, this is harassment if you..." 

"Sir!" John was intercepted by a PC coming out of Sherlock's bedroom, brandishing an evidence bag, and the doctor's heart sunk. He could see what it was from here. Inside the sealed clear bag were two pharmaceutical bottles of Sevredol, pure medical grade morphine.

"Oh Sherlock you have been a naughty boy." Moriarty gloated, taking the evidence bag delivered to him in hand and making a show of examining the bottles. "Nice stuff Sherlock, did you break into a cancer hospice for this? Or has your doctor friend been prescribing you things he shouldn't." He chuckled to himself, enjoying the slight flinch from Sherlock and nodded to the uniformed PC, who got out a pair of handcuffs.

"You planted that!" John stood, unable to contain his rage any longer, and the constable watching him put a hand on his chest.

"That's a very serious accusation Dr. Watson, but I'll have to inform the GMC, to check you've not been getting a bit carefree with your prescription pad, helping out a junkie mate and all that." His expression fell a bit darker, and he said lower, "bit more than mates though aren't you."

John glanced from Molly, who was looking at him uncertainly, to Sherlock, whose face was blank and impassive as the cuffs were tightened around his wrists behind his back. John gave him a pleading look, hoping for some kind of protest or denial from the other man. But none came, and his silence made him look guilty to Molly and every plod in there right now.

"Well, it's a good enough start, you and me are going to have a nice cozy chat down the station." Moriarty place a hand on Sherlock's forearm, to push him out the door, he gave John a wave on their way out. "Can't make any promises when he'll be back dearest, we have ALOT to talk about," he shot John a wink, and disappeared out the door with Sherlock, leaving John in the flat as the police continued to tear apart their lives.

 

 

Sherlock had been sitting in an interview room for at least an hour, and he sat rigid in the chair, elbows resting on black table. He fiddled with the handcuffs and the jangled on his wrists, knowing that even if he didn't have a key he could dislocate his thumb to slip it off. But there would not be so helpful at this point, this was just Moriarty toying with him, trying to torment him.

The door opened, and Sherlock looked up to see Moriarty enter, sipping from a paper cup of coffee, carrying another one. "Thought you might like one, it's going to be a long night," he said with false friendliness, sitting down opposite from Sherlock, and sliding the cup over. "There's something wrong with the video recorder right now, it's just us right now."

Sherlock let his hands fall to the desk, and he ignored the coffee. "Is this the best you could come up with, a fake possession charge?"

Moriarty shrugged, taking another sip of his black coffee, "just wanted a chat, and to let you know I am going to make life very difficult for you." He set the cup down, and fixed that black stare on the other man, "I'm going to burn the heart out of you. We both know where that resides now don't we."

Sherlock's jaw clenched, and Moriarty smirked, "thought you wouldn't like that."

The door opened, and Moriarty sat back casually in his chair. In came Lestrade, and he looked harried as usual. "Videos fixed, we can get this started."

"Yes Sir," Moriarty replied, smirk still fixed on his thin lips.

Sherlock let his eyes flick to Lestrade, not letting any of the betrayal or disappointment in the Detective Inspector show. When the police officer sat at the table next to Moriarty, he leaned over to switch the tape recorder on. "Interview with Sherlock Holmes, commencing on November 16th at," he checked his wrist watch, "10:48pm."

Lestrade didn't ever look at him though, instead looked down at the folder in front of him. "So, Mr. Holmes," he began in a monotone voice, "We're not really interested in the drugs found in your flat, but your connections to organised crime."

Sherlock sat back in the hard plastic chair, arms folded across his chest. "I want a solicitor present."

"That is you're right Mr. Holmes..." Lestrade said, and reached for the tape recorder button. "Interview terminated until legal representation is present at," he checked his watch again, "10:50pm."

The recorder stopped with an audible click, and Lestrade sat back in his own chair. "DS Moriarty, please go and arrange for a duty solicitor for Mr. Holmes."

Moriarty was a bit sad to interrupt his gloating over Sherlock, but he nodded to his superior.

Sherlock stared ahead at nothing, ignoring Lestrade as Moriarty left the room. He was angry and felt betrayed by the Inspector. As soon as the door clicked closed behind him, Lestrade sighed and his shoulders sagged, "I couldn't find anything."

"So you come and arrest me?" Sherlock asked bitterly.

"I had no choice, we had informants naming you, it was going to look very suspicious if I done nothing about it. I was hoping we would find nothing."

"The drugs were a plant, you let Jim set me up," Sherlock ground the name out through his teeth. 

Lestrade looked uncomfortable, and didn't meet Sherlock's accusatory stare.

"You know I'm right, you know there is something very wrong with DS Moriarty."

"Gut feeling is not a evidence," Lestrade pointed out, "I have none against him, but it's mounting against you. I'm sorry," he gestured with his palms open, "I'll see what I can do about your bail when the time comes, but they intend to use this drugs charge to lean on you."

"At best I can expect a prison sentence, at worst a jailhouse accident while I wait for trial." Sherlock's primary concern was not himself though, it was John; he dreaded to think what the twisted imagination of Moriarty was planning. "Meanwhile the real mastermind is left unimpeded, to spin his web further into the underground, pulling away at the strings right from Scotland Yard itself." Sherlock turned his head away from the police officer, indicating their conversation was finished.

Lestrade took the hint, and stood from his chair. "I'm getting more coffees, it's going to be a long night."

Moriarty watched the video monitors from the room next door. The sounds had been turned off, but he had read Sherlock's lips, and his suspicion about his boss had been confirmed. Lestrade would have to be dealt with, it was no good having a boss who didn't have 100% faith in him. All in good time though. Moriarty ducked out the room to go deal with tiresome legal procedures.


End file.
